Infinity
by BleedtoLoveHer
Summary: He knows that I won't say it back. He doesn't expect me to. Modern day AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's**** Note:** This story was originally published on this site last summer, but taken down earlier this year due to some personal issues. I am currently editing previously published chapters and finishing the final few remaining chapters now. I plan on updating every Friday. First with edited chapters (the 7 that were originally published), and then with the remaining 3 that I'm working on now.

Thanks for everyone's patience with me, it means more than you know. :)

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"So... How long do you think it'll be before the cops show up this time?"

Madge's words come out more slurred than usual, and I can't help but want to slap Gale for suggesting that she down her Xanax using a shot of Mr. Boston's. Hell, I should slap him just for showing up tonight with the cheap ass stuff. Beggars can't be choosers, though, and if you mix it with enough cherry Kool-Aid, it goes down a lot easier. Besides, at 17 it's not like we can do much better.

By the time I manage to swim my way over to where she sits, feet dangling in the water, she's already got her face, along with her entire tiny torso, pressed against the wet poolside. I sigh as I pull my body out of the deep end.

"Sit up," I say, pulling on her shoulders and forcing her to follow my orders. "Your cheek's going to get all weird and dimply looking if you fall asleep like that. Won't make for a very pretty mug shot."

Too far gone to realize that I'm joking, she actually starts to attempt smoothing her hair and straightening her clothes into their appropriate places. I laugh and her icy eyes cut over to where I sit. It's a wonder that Madge is not more popular than she is, given not just her good looks, but her father's social standing and the fact that she's just about the nicest person I know. Hanging out with this bunch certainly does her no favors, that's for sure.

"Although," I start, her glare beginning to burn a hole into the side of my head. "You, of all people, should know that Deputy Cray's _reaction time _can be rather quick."

Her eyes widen and her somehow still perfectly glossed mouth drops open. I barely have time to jump to my feet before her hand shoots out and latches around my ankle. Laughing and hopping around on my free foot, I try my best to kick her off of me. When her grip momentarily loosens so that she can stand, I take off running, the soles of my feet leaving dark prints on the dry sections of the cement. I snatch up my t-shirt from one of the lounge chairs, still heavy with water from jumping into the pool fully clothed less than half an hour ago, and sling it back at her. The satisfying _thhhwap_ of it making contact is soon followed by the even more satisfying groans of annoyance that fall from her lips.

"You _swore_ that was between us!"

Her words come out in a hiss, but are much louder than I'm sure she meant for them to be. I note, even in my slightly inebriated state, that all sounds of splashing and laughter from the pool have come to an abrupt stop. I stumble to a halt, my gaze flickering over to where the guys are all looking at us, vague interest present on their faces mostly due to the fact that Madge hardly ever raises her voice. Okay, maybe it has a little to do with the fact that I'm also in my underwear, but it's nothing that they haven't seen before. We've been breaking into this pool for the past three summers at least.

Gale raises a brow and tilts his head back to take another pull from the soda bottle he's poured his more-vodka-than-anything-else mixture into. The look that I shoot him in return gets its point across quickly and he distracts everyone else by promptly placing his drink on the ground beside him and cannon-balling into the deep end. A chorus of 'what the fuck's' and 'damn it, Gale's' ring out over the splash and I try to ignore Peeta's noteworthy silence. I try not to notice the way that his blue eyes travel up the length of my legs from his spot on the steps over in the shallow end.

Madge's hand is gripping my wrist this time, bringing my attention back to her. Throwing my soaked shirt back onto a chair, she leans close; her voice much quieter now.

"_You swore, Katniss!_"

"_Relax!_" I insist as I use her tight hold on my wrist to bring her closer. She swallows and looks over at the spot where Gale's resurfaced. "He's not going to find out. _No one _is going to find out. However, I'm sure that if Mr. Hawthorne over there knew that you were up for that sort of thing, he m-,"

My words are cut off when she shoves the palm of her hand tight against my lips. If it wasn't for her shitty poker face, the action might actually lead me to believe that she's really mad at me. Instead, the right side of her mouth starts to twitch and before much longer, her shoulders are shaking so hard that her hand slips from its spot across the lower half of my face. When she starts to full-out giggle, I start to wonder whether that was Xanax that she had shaken out of the tiny pill container earlier. Vicodin, maybe? It's the one that's always made Madge more of a loopy, silly mess.

"Okay, okay. I get it. You're a good friend, Katniss."

Her eyelids droop a little and she leans in to place a sloppy, wet kiss to the corner of my mouth. She wraps her arms around me and snaps the back of my bra before pulling me flush against her body in a tight hug. I catch Peeta's gaze over her shoulder and he sends a smirk my way that has me rolling my eyes and raising a middle finger in return.

Madge has barely managed to lower herself into the chair behind her when Gale calls over to me.

"Catnip, those lights! What do you think?"

My head whips toward the end of the street where a car is slowly rounding the corner. I wonder for a second why he even bothered to ask. If there's one thing that we know, it's what the headlights of a Chevy Impala, used by the Madison County Sherriff's Department, look like. Sometimes, I think that he likes to remind our little group just how 'badass' the two of us are, being the only ones to have actually been in the back of a police cruiser. Because, you know, criminal trespassing (in both of our cases) and possession of half a joint (in Gale's) makes you look real tough.

He can tell by the way that I reach down to pull Madge from her seat that his suspicions are correct. I hear the water lap over the side of the pool from where he's pulling himself out.

"Everybody out," he bellows, his voice close enough to my ear to make me wince a little. I'm too focused on trying to rouse the fairly fucked up blonde in front of me and locate my pants at the same time to bitch at him, though. When everyone doesn't immediately react to his words, he continues. "Cops! We gotta' go!"

This seems to light a fire under the rest of their asses. I turn to find that Gale's already managed to stuff his feet into his shoes and throw his t-shirt over his shoulder. Shooting him a pleading look, I gesture to Madge.

"Gale, grab her!"

The words are barely out of my mouth before he's scooped her up and making his way toward the gap in the chain link fence that we created in order to get in. It's scary how quickly we all get the hell out of dodge. Hell, Thresh and Marvel are almost to the woods already.

I manage to find my flip flops, but don't spot my pants on the opposite side of the pool until I'm almost at the fence. Screw it. I left my purse and shit in Marvel's car, so there's nothing in the pockets anyway. I'm only a few steps onto the grass when someone grabs me from behind and throws me over their shoulder. I yelp, but immediately calm down when my upside-down face slams into the broad, tanned back of the person carrying me. Only Finnick would wear the ridiculous boxer-briefs with lipstick prints all over them that are now dangerously close to where my face hangs.

"God damn it, Finn! Put me down; I can fucking run, you know!"

"As fast as I am right now? In flip flops?" He asks, pausing for a second. "I didn't think so. Now, shut the hell up, Katniss."

We exit the wooded area less than a minute later, coming out on the opposite side of the block from this particular community's pool. We're the last ones to the car and Finnick makes a big show of slapping my ass before he lowers me to the ground. He hops into the old Cadillac, pulling me in behind him and slamming the door. I've barely settled in on his lap when Marvel steps on the gas. My head falls back, hitting the soft, blue leather interior of the seat between Finnick and Thresh's shoulders, and Finn's arms tighten around my bare torso.

No one speaks until we've made it out of the sub-division and are absolutely sure that the cop car isn't following us.

Marvel's grip on the steering wheel is impressive enough that his knuckles have turned white. His eyes meet mine in the rearview and he smiles a little while nodding toward where Madge is already fast asleep against his shoulder. I shake my head and laugh as silently as possible. He probably already has drool on his shoulder. Thresh shifts beside me, and I try not to giggle as I point out that the biggest guy in the car is the one that got stuck riding bitch. He merely pokes at my side and leans his head back as far as it'll go. Gale's already packed a bowl, and soon the interior of the Caddy smells like pot mixed with chlorine. The smell obviously doesn't sit well with Peeta and he rolls down the window from where he's sitting behind Gale. I offer him a sympathetic smile (the smell isn't all that pleasant to me, either), and ignore the heat I feel in my belly as his eyes fail to stay focused on my face. Finnick's hand is busy drawing lazy circles just below my belly button and I can't stop myself from squirming when he hits that undeniably annoying ticklish spot on my left side.

"Be careful, Everdeen. It's okay, though," he says in a warning voice as he splays both hands out in order to keep me in place. "We all know how much you want me."

He shows just how sincere his warning is however, when his fingers creep down a little lower, tracing the waistband of my underwear. It may be hard for others to deal with Finnick's overtly sexual ways, but I've found over the years that ignoring him seems to do the trick. Besides, we both know that he wants nothing to do with me; it's just the way that he works. The day that Finnick Odair fails to show you affection in an openly sexual way, is the day that he really doesn't give a fuck about you anymore.

I lean forward, resting a forearm on the headrest in front of me, and momentarily trap his hand between my lap and torso. As much as I want to risk a glance at Peeta right now, I don't allow myself to do so. I can picture the dark look in his eyes clearly enough in my head. Instead, I reach my arm over the seat and pluck the rest of Gale's harshly mixed drink from the spot beside him. It's only about a third of the way full, but I know that the cheap booze will be more than enough for me right now.

"Where to now?" Marvel asks as he slows the car to a stop at a red light. Right will take us into the downtown, 'wealthier' area of the city. Left will take you to the opposite; the proverbial 'wrong side of the tracks'. He already has his left blinker on.

"My mom's working the night shift, and then she'll probably be at her boyfriend's house after that. Head to my place; we can crash there," I offer. I assumed that's what we'd end up doing anyway.

"Isn't Prim at home, though?" Thresh's deep voice comes from behind me and I turn my head to face him.

"She's at your house, dummy. Sleepover with Rue. We can throw Madge in her bed."

He nods his head in vague recognition, and falls silent again.

Finnick lets out a low hiss when I lower myself fully back onto his lap, and I'm not even surprised when I realize that he's starting to get hard. Like I said, I know that he wants nothing to do with me. His reaction is entirely due to the fact that there is a 17 year-old, female ass that's been placed on his 17 year-old, male crotch. I shift a little more, just to throw some fuel on the fire as I tip my head back to down the remainder of Gale's drink.

"It's okay, Odair," I say as I lean back to place a chaste kiss on the side of his neck. "We all know how much you want me."

Finnick groans and lightly pushes my head away from him. I hear chuckles coming from everyone in the car, save for two; the unconscious blonde in the front, and the now sullen one here in the back.

I don't look over at him, resolute in letting my eyes rest on anything but him. It's hard not to be aware of him in my peripheral vision, though; the way that his Adam's apple bobs up and down as he swallows hard at the way my thighs are spread just far enough apart to drive him crazy. I languidly trace a figure eight across the top of my leg and note how his hands curl into fists atop his own.

I scramble from the car as soon as Marvel pulls into the driveway. Gale grabs my purse from the floorboard in front of his seat and slides it across the hood. I nod to him, and then back to Madge in a silent plea for him to carry her inside. He sighs, and leans back into the front seat without a word.

The porch light is out and has been for months now. Thresh has his cell pulled out, pointing it in the direction of the lock on the door so that I can see to let us in.

"You can go ahead and put her in Prim's room," I call to Gale as I make my way into the kitchen, slightly more than just unsteady on my feet.

I pull open the fridge and grab a couple of bottles of water to keep on my nightstand. I have a feeling that I'll be needing them in the morning. A pack of chocolate pudding sitting inside the door catches my attention, but the sound of a glass bottle being placed on the counter beside me makes me forget all about it.

When I look over, Marvel's already rooting through the cabinets. He pulls out six shot glasses, three in each hand, and places them on the counter. I must have been staring at that pudding for longer than I thought because Gale's back from putting Madge to bed, and already packing another bowl at the kitchen table. Everyone looks pretty at home, and I'm happy to see that Finnick has decided to put his pants back on.

"There's just enough for everyone to have one more shot," Marvel announces as he goes around, pressing the tiny plastic glasses into everyone's hands.

"Fine, but everyone is going to bed after this. I've got to work in the morning, so I swear to God, if any of you wake my ass up..." I trail off as everyone clinks their drinks together. I try not to cough, but this shit is really awful. "G'night."

I'm not quite asleep when I hear the bedroom door creak open. It wakes me up, but the sound of the lock clicking into place is what really grabs my attention. Swinging my legs over the side, I sit up only to immediately be shoved back, flat against the mattress.

"Peeta?"

I know that it's him, of course. Over time, my body has become very familiar with the feel of the large, calloused fingers that are currently pressing my shoulders down onto the bed. In my drunken, woozy state, though, I can't help but continue to tease.

"Sorry, who else were you expecting? Don't tell me you thought that I was Finn."

His voice is nothing more than a heated whisper, and I'm a fool to think that I can stop my body from reacting to it. There's only a scant amount of light coming in through the blinds from the light post out by the roadside; it's all that I need, really. The faint glow allows just enough illumination for me to make out the crooked smile on his lips. I feel my heart rate pick up speed; that smile always leads to the most delicious things. And, my God, do I love that smile.

He leans down, hovering just over me, but not touching. His warm breath ghosts over the side of my neck and, despite its heat, I shiver once his lips still just beside my ear. The fingers of his right hand have gone from holding down my shoulder to lightly charting interconnecting loops in the space just above my collarbone. My eyes flutter closed as I feel the bed sink down with the weight of the knee he places beside my hip.

"You did that on purpose," his words hit my ear a fraction of a second before his lips do. I gasp as he takes the lobe between his teeth. Lying as still as possible, I relish the feel of his mouth as it trails down the side of my neck.

"Of course I did," I say, breathless already, as I hook a leg over his hip and pull him flush against me. His head falls into the crook of my neck and a low moan escapes him as I roll my hips against his. "I know what it does to you."

I reach down between our bodies and take hold of him, illustrating the meaning behind my words. The low hiss that he lets out makes me wish that I could see his face right now. His confusion is evident as I let my leg drop and start to wriggle out from underneath him, but he doesn't say anything or try to stop me. Pulling myself to the head of the bed, I reach over to turn on the lamp that sits on my nightstand. The shade is a deep purple color and the bulb is dim, but it serves its purpose.

When I turn back to face him, the lust is evident in Peeta's eyes and I beckon him to join me against the pillows. He's on me within seconds and I let out a giggle that's much louder than I mean for it to be. He pulls his face from the space between my breasts and raises an eyebrow. I shrug a little and give him a look that says _'Oops'_, knowing that there's a good chance that someone heard me, and at the same time hoping that they didn't.

His lips cover mine and I sigh into his open mouth while his hands make short work of my panties. I try to follow his lead, but my arms are much shorter and his muscled torso is much longer than my own. Managing to get his boxer-briefs around his thighs, I hook a foot in them and shove them down as quickly as I can. He's attacking my neck and chest with fervor now and the light sucking sensation shoots what feels like an electric current straight to my groin.

"I swear to fuck, Peeta Mellark, if you so much as leave a mark..."

I don't have the breath to finish my idle threat, and settle for trying to make him as equally breathless instead. I wrap my fingers tightly around him and lift my hips to run the tip of his cock along my entrance. I'm ready and the change in his breathing tells me that he knows it. He releases my breast from the suction of his mouth and locks eyes with me. A quick glance down confirms that a hickey is already forming on the skin that peeks out just above my bra. I'd roll my eyes but the dark look that he's giving me nearly stops my breathing altogether.

"You won't do it again this way. Not unless you want to answer questions. Not unless you're finally ready to let everyone know that you're mine," he says with a quiet intensity. And I would respond, but he covers my mouth with his own in order to swallow the moan that I give as he plunges himself into me. My hands fall to my sides, momentarily gripping the sheets before I bring them up to tangle them in his blond curls.

We've done this dance hundreds of times now. He doesn't play the guilt card often, but when he does it always works like a charm. Over the next few days, he'll be the only one whose lap I'll be sitting on, and Madge won't be the sole recipient of my quick, public kisses on the corner of the mouth. Hell, these guilt trips have even resulted in quickies in the janitor's closet at school, or a hand-job in the back row of the town's only movie theatre.

I know that it's not what he wants, but it's the best that I can do.

His lips don't leave mine until he has to pull away to gasp as my nails scratch their way down his back. There's a quizzical look on his face as I take one of his hands and place it over my mouth, but when his eyes widen as he watches my other hand snake down to where we're joined, I can see that he now understands my intentions. It always takes longer if he's been drinking, and I can still taste the cherry Kool-Aid on his lips. This will drive him over the edge, though; it always does. And, as good as this feels, we both know it's not smart to prolong it with so many people in the house with us.

I lean forward to cup his balls with one hand, grasping just hard enough to make him groan, and start to rub small, slow circles over my clit with the other. He may have seen me naked numerous times, but watching me touch myself is something that never fails to get Peeta off. When his breathing quickens and I feel his balls tighten in my palm, I know that he's close, and the slow circles become faster and faster. Less than thirty seconds pass before I'm biting his bottom lip almost hard enough to draw blood in order to keep us both quiet.

When his body collapses on top of mine, I lightly nip at the shell of his ear and smile when he lets out a whimper. It's hot, but the air coming through the crack in the window helps, and my limbs are too much like jelly to push him off me. He finally rolls over and draws himself close to my side; his head resting just above my breast. His fingers trail across the edge of the pale blue bra cup, and I shove a leg in between his in an attempt to get even closer.

"I think the shot's made your boobs bigger," he says and I try not to snort at how thoughtful he actually makes the words sound. "I like it. Of course, I don't like it when you put them on display for everyone else to see... At least not like this. You realize this thing is pretty much see-through, right?"

I don't answer him, reaching back to unhook the offending garment and then slipping the straps down my arms. He kisses the newly uncovered flesh and I know the conversation is over for now. He reaches behind him to turn off the lamp and his head reclaims its spot on my chest. His soft exhales cause my nipple to pucker and tighten, and he leans over to flick it with his tongue before settling back down.

"I love you so much, Katniss."

He knows that I won't say it back. He doesn't expect me to. Instead, I press my lips to his forehead and slowly trace figure eights along his naked flesh until we fall asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

"You smell fucking terrible," I mutter as my back comes in contact with the interior wall of the walk-in cooler.

"Well, hello to you, too," he chuckles, his fingers digging tightly into my hips. He takes a second to lean in and place a kiss on my neck, and I cringe away from him at the odor. "I was over at Gale's. Helped him replace the transmission and timing belt on that piece of shit in the driveway. He still thinks it's going to run one day."

Ah, that explains it. I was wondering why there was a lingering hint of weed along with the sweat and scent of motor oil that I can smell on him. Peeta doesn't actually smoke the stuff himself.

I pause to give him a quick once-over. He's wearing the same jeans that he was when he snuck out of my room this morning before anyone could catch us together, the pair with the holes above the corners of the back pockets, but has opted to change his shirt. The faded, blue Sublime tee is one that he's had since middle school. It's one of my favorites not just because of how soft it's gotten over the years, but because of the way that it now strains against the muscles of his chest and back. Yes, the years have been kind to the skinny eighth grader that Peeta Mellark once was.

"Yeah, well, you didn't think to take a shower before you left?"

He hooks his thumb through a belt loop of his jeans and shrugs. The action creates a gap between the bottom of his shirt and the waistline of his pants, allowing just enough space for me to see the dark blonde trail of hair that disappears downward. He catches me looking and smirks. My fingers reach out to trace the skin on their own accord, and his eyes turn dark as he presses me against the wall again.

"Well, I was thinking...," he leans down to press his forehead to mine. "You're probably going to need one, too. After you get off work, right?"

Rolling my eyes, I nudge his face away from mine. He has a firm grip on my hand, though, so it stays trapped underneath his shirt, fingers splayed flat against his lower abdomen.

"You know just as well as I do that Thresh and Finn are picking me up in like," I pause just long enough to kick the cooler door open and glance at the clock that hangs on the wall outside. "Half an hour."

A stormy expression crosses his face and I can see that he still hasn't quite forgiven me for the stunt I pulled with Finnick last night. I tell him that he can come, too. It's Sunday night, and we have school tomorrow. This means that his mom is going to be pissed if he stays out much later, but it's easy to see by the look of determination that he's giving me that his mind has already been made up. I run a hand along his forehead, just barely able to make out the thin, white scar hidden behind the hair of his brow, and hope that she's not in one of her moods when he gets home.

Moira Mellark is an unpleasant woman who likes to act as if Peeta is her biggest disappointment. Like it's his fault that her oldest son has racked up more possession charges that almost anyone else in the county, or that the middle Mellark boy knocked up his high school girlfriend. He may not have made their mistakes, but in her eyes, the only way to prevent it from happening are her more than just strict rules and a hard hand.

Coming from a fairly wealthy family in the Charleston area, she moved here after graduating from the college where she'd met Stephen Mellark. Apparently she'd had higher hopes for the small town that her handsome fiancé hailed from. She's been, at least according to my mother, nothing but dissatisfied and petulant ever since.

Apparently the two of them used to be friends. This was back before my mother got pregnant with me, sending my father scared and running for the hills. Word somehow got around to Moira that her husband dated mom off and on back in high school. The fact that she was single again, and that Moira is an unsure of herself, insensitive bitch nipped their friendship in the bud pretty quickly.

Needless to say, his mother hates me. I can't deny that the feeling is mutual.

Peeta's fingers fumbling with the apron tied around my waist brings my attention back to him and I look down to realize that he's dropped to his knees in front of me. I try to tell him to stop, but no words come out when he rips my zipper down with his teeth. I cringe, almost able to make out the tangy metallic taste in my own mouth as I watch him. He pushes the khakis that I hate so much but have to wear because they're 'part of the uniform' midway down my thighs and leans forward. I can feel his hot breath through the front of my thin, cotton underwear and the fingers that are threaded through the blond mop on top of his head do the opposite of their original intention in pulling him closer instead of pushing him away.

"Peeta," I plead, my head and body going in two completely different directions. "We can't... It's too..."

His open lips kissing me through the already damp fabric derails my train of thought entirely. In contrast with the chilly air surrounding us, the heat of his mouth makes my knees buckle. I can feel his grin against me, and allow my eyes to close. The battle between the temperature of the air in here and the flush that's taking over my face is a pretty fair one, but it can't stop the goosebumps that appear on my arms as well as the bare skin of my legs.

Peeta wastes no time in pulling my underwear to the side, exposing me to his mouth. I gasp as the side seam the panties rubs across me harshly. Knowing that we don't have a lot of time, he grabs my ass and pulls me closer, his lips immediately finding and closing around the nub that he enjoys teasing so much.

When we first started doing this all those months ago, it had been a clusterfuck of clumsy movements that took forever, if at all, to get me off. Now though, it amazes me just how quickly he manages to ignite the fire down below and have me a worn down to a quivering mess. He starts to use what he knows is my favorite combination of sucking and rolling his tongue over my clit before delving two fingers into me. Just before I come, he offers up his free hand and I sink my teeth into the skin between his thumb and index finger. It's hard enough to leave a bruise, but it's only fair, given the hickey on my chest, that he's also left with a reminder of our time together.

I stand up as straight as possible on my still uneasy legs and pull my pants back up. The moist underwear is just something that I'll have to deal with for the last fifteen or so minutes of my shift. I peek out at the clock again, then turn back to face Peeta. A downward glance confirms that he's undeniably hard underneath his jeans. I reach forward, cupping his erection through the faded denim and he crashes his mouth against mine forcefully. Pulling away to back out of the walk-in, I jerk my head in the direction of the restrooms.

"You should probably go take care of that," I smirk as I let my gaze wander down to his crotch.

He groans, but I push him off of me and turn to go about the task of closing down my register. Sure, I've got fifteen more minutes, but it's been dead for the past two hours. When Peeta had shown up an hour ago, I'd already wiped all of the tables down twice. He mumbles something that I can't quite catch as he passes me on his way to the men's room. Less than a minute later, I hear a car door slam outside and Finn and Thresh's laughter just before the bell indicating their arrival rings out.

"Hey, girlie," Finnick calls out as he slides into the booth nearest the register.

He's concentrating so hard on the cellphone in his hand that he bangs his knee on the corner of the table and a string of curses flies from his mouth. I stifle a laugh while simultaneously swatting Thresh's hand away from the cookie display.

"You have to wait 'til we close. You know that."

He holds his hands out in front of him as a signal that he'll behave and joins Finn in his booth. Peeta exits the bathroom a few minutes later and nods his hello to the two of them. He smirks at me and flexes his hand a little. I can see the teeth marks from where I'm standing behind the counter. Narrowing my eyes at him, I set about closing the place down.

By 6:03 (because everything closes early on Sundays here in the Bible Belt), we're out the door and piling into Finn's hand-me-down Acura. He complains the entire way back to his house about how I'm 'Subway-ing' his car up by not changing out of my work clothes before getting in. I just throw a bag half-filled with his favorite double chocolate chip cookies at him and he shuts up.

Marvel and Gale are already taking up most of the floor space in front of the small television set up in the basement when we get there. They're playing Halo, though which one I'm not sure, and I purposely take my time stepping in front of them on the way to the bathroom to change.

Sitting my bag down, I strip the awful green polo shirt from my torso. The purplish marks on the swell of my breast grab my attention and I take a second to examine them in the mirror. I root through the clothes that I have with me and am half-tempted to change into a tank top that will just allow Peeta's handiwork to show. After a moment's worth of deliberation, I decide to play nice and throw a different shirt on instead.

By the time that I return, Finn and Thresh have taken up residence on the old, striped, matches-absolutely-nothing loveseat that rests along the cool cement wall. Peeta's seated in the leather recliner that Finn's grandfather moved down here from the living room when Grandma Mags forced him to replace it. One cushion covering the arm is cracked and the lever on the side that brings out the footrest only works when it wants to. I make my way over and plop myself down on one of the arms. It sags a little under my weight, so I slide off and onto his lap.

"You still smell awful," I say under my breath. He just shrugs and shifts a little in order to get comfortable, gripping high on the underside of my thigh as he does.

Marvel tosses the controller over his shoulder to Thresh and turns to face everyone.

"My cousin's band is playing a house show this Friday," he says in between mouthfuls of Funyuns. "There's a $5 cover, but I'm sure if we convince Katniss here to come, he'll let us in for free."

I groan. Marvel's cousin, Cato, is a couple of years older than us, an arrogant prick, and, unfortunately, has been trying to get into my pants for the greater part of a year now. Peeta hates the guy with the fire of a thousand suns, and every time we're stuck at a party that he's also attending, I end up walking funny for the next few days. I shift a little just thinking about the gratifying ache between my legs and his breathing picks up behind me. When I lean back, his soft exhales fall against the back of my neck and ear, causing the fly-aways from my low placed bun to tickle the skin there. I swat at his cheek without looking over my shoulder and he tries not to laugh.

"Seriously, Marvel, when is he going to just give it up?" I ask, holding my hands out in front of me, palms raised upward.

Gale scoffs from his spot on the floor, "Probably not until you decide to."

I have my shoe off and chucked it at his head within five seconds.

"Yeah. Well, in that case, I guess I'll have to deal with his God-awful pick-up lines until he finds another high schooler that he wants to fuck."

Gale, already over my assault by Converse, tosses my shoe back to me, and reaches into his jeans for his buzzing cellphone. I raise an eyebrow as I watch a dopey grin spread across his face and, oh my God, is he actually blushing? He must feel my eyes on him because he looks up a half-second later, nervously rubbing the back of his neck as he shoves his phone back into his pocket.

"What?"

He doesn't even question the way that I predict his incoming query. Gale and I have been friends since kindergarten. Between making up lies to cover the other's ass and hiding in the bushes waiting for cop cars to pass with our beer bottles still in our hands, we've perfected the art of silent communication.

"Do you think Madge would say yes if I asked her to prom?"

I blink; actually surprised for once. Not that his question has to do with Madge (those two have been dancing around each other for the last few months), but that he's actually considering going to prom. Reason number one being that he hates school functions. We all do, really, but his hatred runs so deep that he didn't even come out to support our school's baseball team at State last month; even though his little brother, Rory, and Peeta were both on the team. Reason number two is, quite simply, that Gale is cheap and prom is not. It says a lot about how much he must like her if he's willing to blow money that he could be spending on videogames and weed on a school dance instead.

"Gale, Madge would go just about anywhere with you if you asked her," I start, leaning forward on Peeta's lap so that I can grab a can of Mt. Dew off the coffee table. I pop the top on it and look down at the smile on the dark-haired boy's face in front of me. "Seriously, though? Prom? Doesn't really seem like your thing."

If I wasn't so attuned to his body, I would probably miss the way that Peeta's muscles all instantly tighten. God, I hope he wasn't planning on actually asking me to go to prom with him.

"Well, I mean, everyone else is going," Gale offers. He gestures to Finnick. "You're still planning on asking Annie, right, Finn?"

Finn nods and throws in that he's planning on asking her tomorrow. Thresh mentions that he's going with Clove and how she's already starting to worry about how ridiculous their height difference is going to look in pictures. When Marvel speaks up about how hot Glimmer's dress is supposed to be, I start getting nervous. Until...

"Shit, even Peet's going."

Gale's words fill me with an emotion that I'm not entirely sure I know the name of.

"Yeah," Marvel joins in. "Glimmer says that Delly's been bragging about it nonstop."

Ah, now it's morphed into a feeling that I'm much more familiar with. Pure, unadulterated anger. Luckily, my poker face is something that I've always been able to pride myself on.

Peeta's fingers start to hurriedly draw sloppy figure eights across the exposed skin of my lower back. I reach around and harshly pull my tank top down to cover the gap between it and the top of my jeans. Slapping his hand away as inconspicuously as possible, I whip my head around to look him in the eye. I don't wait to try and figure out whatever nonverbal message he's attempting to portray before I speak.

"Delly Cartwright? Really? The same Delly Cartwright that spread all those rumors about me at the beginning of the year? The one who sabotaged Prim's cheerleading tryout just because she's my little sister? Don't get me wrong," I turn to face the guys on the couch. "Glimmer's a bitch, too. And, Clove, well... I'll give her a free pass because she hates everyone. But _Delly_?"

I can't help but feel grateful for all of the times that I've bitched about Delly Cartwright to the group here in this room. Otherwise, everything I'm actually feeling inside would be glaringly obvious.

Suddenly, I don't feel all that great. I plant my hands on the arms of the chair, careful not to touch Peeta anymore than I absolutely have to, and pull myself up. I start to head off in the direction of the restroom and swallow the thick lump that's risen into my throat. In an attempt to lighten the bleak mood that I've just cast over the room, I turn back and roll my eyes.

"I mean, shit, who would've thought that out of all of you guys, Hawthorne and Odair would be the only ones with good taste."

Peeta's eyes are hard, but I don't look away.

"My mom set it up," he runs a hand through his hair and an exasperated sigh falls from his lips. "She and Mrs. Cartwright... They're in the same book club and Delly's mom mentioned how she didn't have a date. So mom took it upon herself..."

"Plus, her tits are huge," Finnick offers, doing his best to try and bail Peeta out.

It takes all the composure that I can muster to force a counterfeit smile to my face, but at least my sarcasm is genuine.

"Yes. Well, thank God for that."

I close the bathroom door behind me and sag against it. When I see my reflection in the mirror, I note that my eyes are bloodshot and glassy looking. Mistaking that, in addition to the tight, nervous feeling in my throat, I think that I'm about to throw up. It's not until my face is hovering above the toilet and I choke on a muffled sob that I actually realize how hard I'm trying hard not to cry.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

Digging through the bottom of the bag that I left in here earlier, I send a silent 'thank you' up to whoever when my fingers close around the amber-colored prescription pill bottle. The noise from the television drowns out the sound of the Xanax moving around its the container, and thank fuck for that. Those guys can discern the telltale rattle of any kind of pill from a mile away, and will be pissed if they find out that I have a prescription for the little fuckers. Cupping my hand underneath the flow of the faucet, I swallow one down. After the longest thirty seconds of my life, I exit the bathroom, cellphone in hand.

"I'm gonna' head home, guys. My mom's working the night shift again and Prim's there by herself."

They all nod and say their goodbyes. I'm halfway up the basement stairs when I hear Thresh's voice.

"Shit, Peet. What happened to your hand?"

I stop and look over to where they're all examining the angry, red bite mark.

"Katniss bit me," he answers, shrugging a little as if it happens every day.

All of their attention shifts to me, so I answer in the most monotone voice possible; one that will hopefully leave no question that I'm lying.

"Yes. I bit him in a fit of passion."

Finnick is the first one to laugh, followed by Gale, then Marvel, then Thresh. Peeta is the only one that remains silent.

The second that I allow my gaze to settle on him is more than enough time to see how I've made him feel. He's been waiting for months for me to make the decision, the move, the great big, giant leap that will allow people to know about us. And now I've just turned it into some joke; something for our friends to laugh at the audacity of.

I wonder if he's even thought of how what's he done, or agreed to do, is making me feel?

"Hey, Marvel," I call after I've made it up another few steps. "What night did you say Cato's show was?"

He tells me that it's on Friday, and I nod. I look down at my shoes, focusing on the faded infinity symbol drawn over to rubber toe in Sharpie, and then say to let him know that I'll be there.

My eyes meet Peeta's once more and I offer him a tight smile that I know falls pretty short when it comes to reaching my eyes. Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I leave the basement, with him in it, behind.


	3. Chapter 3

"What's up your ass today?"

I don't even bother to look over at Madge before shoving her lunch tray down toward the opposite end of the table. She foils my attempt to ward her off and catches it just before it topples over the edge, sliding it back to the spot across from me. My eyes stay focused on the bottle of Cherry Coke in my hands as I continue to peel the label off.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

I look up in time to see Madge smirking at me as she pops a french fry into her mouth. She washes it down with two giant gulps from the drink that she yanks away from me. When she hands it back, I sneer a little while wiping her lipgloss off the mouth of the bottle with a napkin.

"Whatever. Your sister stopped me after second period and asked me to check on you. Said you spent most of last night holed up in your room, listening to 'angry lesbian music'."

I roll my eyes at the way she forms quotation marks with her fingers.

"We both know that Prim has horrible taste in music, so I'm going to assume that she meant Ani," Madge continues. I neither confirm nor deny her speculation. "Seriously, though... Everything okay?"

I look up briefly, my eyes involuntarily flickering over to where Delly Cartwright is sitting, surrounded by her group of cheerleader friends. The presence of the oversized poster advertising our school's prom in three weeks that's tacked up on the bulletin board directly above her head is not lost on me.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a shitty day at work yesterday."

I can tell before I even meet her eyes that she doesn't buy it. Madge may be clueless when it comes to some of the most obvious things, but she has a special talent when it comes to picking up on my moods. She called it her 'Kitty Sense' once, and I promptly stepped on the heel of her shoe, causing her to slam into the lockers beside us.

"Katniss, you work at Subway. Every day at work is a shitty day."

She doesn't ask what's really bothering me. Instead, she just _stares_. I hate it when she does this. She knows that I hate it. Of course, she also knows that it's the only way that she'll get any sort of answer out of me right now.

After about a minute and a half of feeling Madge's heavily black-rimmed eyes bore holes into the side of my head, I give in. I won't give her the truth, but I'll give her something.

"Prom."

She laughs in disbelief, but at least it gets her to stop fucking staring at me.

"Really? You're in a pissy mood because of something that you're not even going to."

I shrug, continuing to strip the bottle of its label.

"Everyone else is going, apparently."

I see her still instantly, and know that my distraction has worked.

"Who's 'everyone'?"

"Thresh, Peeta, Marvel, Finnick... Everyone."

Her shoulders drop just the tiniest bit, and she starts to chip away at the nail polish on her left thumb.

"So screw it. We'll go together. I mean, shit, Delly already has half the school believing we're a thing as it is. Might as well take the opportunity to fuck with 'em."

"I don't think that's going to work," I can feel a corner of my mouth pull up as she narrows her eyes at me. "Unless you plan on saying no when Gale asks you..."

And, just like that, I've managed to throw her off my scent. For the next ten minutes, my life becomes a series of nods and words of affirmation as she speaks. At record speeds, she goes on about dresses and hairstyles and how tall her heels should be to make up for the height difference between the two of them. At the moment, I find myself missing Stoned Madge terribly. She doesn't talk nearly as much.

I finally manage to shake her once we reach the threshold of my economics classroom. This is the only class that I have with Peeta and, for a fleeting moment, I contemplate hiding out in the girls' bathroom or possibly taking a nap in the backseat of Marvel's Caddy. Madge would probably just follow me, though. I can tell that she's nowhere near the end of her list of possible prom scenarios to talk about.

I've really managed to back myself up against a wall here.

As soon as I peer into the classroom and spot a sub, along with a tv cart pulled in front of the front row of desks, my mind is made up. Telling Madge that I'll see her after school, I head inside, happy to see that Peeta hasn't shown up yet. I slip into my desk, along the left wall, and immediately rest my forehead against the cool laminate top. I'm more than ready to lie here with my eyes closed, pretending that that boy who will eventually take his seat behind me doesn't exist.

If I wasn't so highly attuned to his presence, I probably would miss it when he passes by me. Instead, my shoulders tense slightly when the scent of the spearmint gum that he's constantly chewing makes its way into my nose. A stick lands on my desk, hitting my elbow a half second later. I ignore it.

Once the lights are out and the movie is playing, I try to get comfortable, shifting a little in my seat. I'm still fidgeting when a piece of folded up notebook paper falls over my shoulder and into my lap. Like the gum, it also goes ignored.

It takes maybe three minutes before Peeta starts to kick the back of my chair. After the fourth or fifth kick, I jerk myself upright and make a big production of unwrapping the stick of gum, popping it in my mouth, and crumpling up the foil wrapper. This pacifies him for another minute and a half, and then the kicking resumes.

"Fine," I hiss, turning my head to the side so that he's able to see my annoyance. I still don't look at him, though. I glance toward the teacher's desk to make certain that the substitute isn't paying attention, and then unfold the note in my lap.

_I'm sorry. I was going to tell you._

I lean over to fish a pen out of my backpack. After about twenty seconds of searching, one lands in my lap and I let out an exasperated sigh. I scribble my reply.

_Oh? Was this going to be before, or after you went down on me in the walk-in?_

Extending my arm out behind me, I wait for him to take the paper from my hand. He doesn't immediately go for the note, but wraps his fingers around my wrist, dragging them down the length of my hand slowly. By the time he finally takes it from me, I'm shaking my head in disbelief.

My throat feels dry, and I wonder how he's able to make something like passing notes in class make me feel this way. It probably has something to do with how I have pretty intimate knowledge of just what those hands are capable of.

I hear a short, quiet chuckle from behind me, followed by the sound of him clicking the top of his pen against his teeth. I purse my lips, becoming increasingly irritated with the fact that I actually want to read his response. Not long after I hear him shift in his seat, I feel his hand snaking its way into the gap between my arm and side. I pull the folded note from his grasp, but he once again takes his time settling back into his chair. His hand brushes the side of my breast and I watch as my chest swells with the sharp inhale his movements cause. He lingers for only a second more before pulling his hand away.

_After. Definitely after. You're usually in a much better mood after you come._

I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning. Choosing to ignore his words completely, I pen my next question in a hurry.

_And how were you going to explain it to me?_

I'm careful not to let our fingers touch when I pass the note back to him this time. I use the same caution when he returns it to me.

_Can I come over after school? We can talk about it then._

Goddamn it.

I should say no. I should remind him that he had plenty of time to tell me about his little prom date. I should ignore his question completely, and sleep with my head against the top of the desk for the rest of the period.

I should _not_ turn around to give him my patented 'are you fucking kidding me' face. But I do. I do, and as soon as I see those stupid blue eyes of his, illuminated only by the faint glow of the television at the front of the room, I realize my mistake. He sees it, too; my resolve wavering. He pushes a hand through his hair and when one of the loose curls falls over his eye the last of my aforementioned resolve completely crumbles.

"_Fine_," I say under my breath. He smiles just enough so that the corners of his eyes crinkle slightly.

_Don't look so pleased with yourself, though._

I spend the last hour and a half of the school day suffering through Ms. Trinket's Spanish II class. Bearing witness to Finnick's obvious attempts to distract her with his flirtatious ways is really the period's only saving grace. By the time the final bell rings, her cheeks are tinted almost the exact color of her tacky, hot pink pantsuit.

"You working today?" Finnick asks as we push through the double doors and make our way toward the parking lot.

"Nope."

"You need a ride home, then?"

He bumps his hip into mine, sending me stumbling a few feet to the left. He manages to catch my elbow just before I run into someone's bumper. Throwing an arm around my shoulder, he mumbles something about how I should try not to be so clumsy. I pinch his side and try to squirm away, but his hold is tight.

"No, thanks. Peeta's coming over to work on something for Econ."

The lie comes out easily. It's one that we've both been telling for close to a year now.

Finn nods and we separate when he sees Annie Cresta, the quiet little dark-haired girl that he's apparently taking to prom. I watch from a distance as she smiles up at him sweetly.

Leaning against the passenger side door of Peeta's old Jeep Cherokee, I wait.

The first time that Peeta and I had sex, we'd never even kissed before that night. That first kiss had resulted from a game of Truth or Dare at Bristol Petersen's 17th birthday party. I'm pretty sure that I had only been invited because she had a crush on Gale at the time, and he had asked if he could bring some friends along.

I wasn't even aware that people actually played the stupid game. Bristol's usual group of friends wasn't really into the same form of Saturday night entertainment that we were, though. I guess, looking back, that was them 'cutting loose'. It _was_ nice to not have to wash the stench of weed and spilled booze from myself afterward, though.

Bristol had been feeling brave enough to choose 'dare'. After watching her run around the backyard in just her shorts and bra (all the while, covering her chest with her arms), all of her friends dutifully stuck with baring their souls with 'truth' confessions. When Leevy Anders gave me the choice, I smiled a little when I announced I'd take the dare.

"Okay... I dare you to spend the next five minutes in the guest bedroom, making out with..." I watched her eyes circle around the group seated on the living room floor. I swore that if my lips had to go anywhere near the guy with Cheeto remnants stuck in his braces, I was going to leave. "Peeta!"

I remember raising a brow as I pushed myself to my feet. My grey eyes met his across the circle, and he smirked.

It was certainly not the first time that his crooked smile had made something inside of me twist and turn over the past couple of years. I'd have been lying if I said I hadn't noticed just how good looking Peeta had gotten since we'd first became friends back in the sixth grade. If I'd thought that he was cute back then (and I had - skinny arms, braces, and all), he had become blatantly hot since we'd entered high school. There had been more than a few instances that I'd caught myself staring at the way he filled out his baseball uniform or held on to a goodbye hug just a little longer than necessary.

I shoved all of those thoughts down, though, and reached out to grab his forearm. I pulled him behind me roughly, throwing a wink over my shoulder to the group as we entered the bedroom. When I turned from the door, there was Peeta; standing with his hands shoved into his pockets, elbows locked and shoulders tensed.

"Look, Peeta, we don't have t-"

My words were cut off by his lips crashing against mine. One hand held the side of my face, while his other slid around my waist, coming to rest on the small of my back. Before I knew what was happening, he'd spun me in the opposite direction and the backs of my thighs were pushed against the plush, queen-sized bed.

With the fire in my belly decidedly lit, I responded with equal enthusiasm. He ran his tongue along my bottom lip and a few seconds after I had granted it access, it seemed as if we'd never be able to get close enough. I lay back, pulling him down with me, and hooked my right leg around his hips. Our hands never lingered long on one place; both too eager to halt our hurried exploration of the other.

By the time we broke apart, my chest was heaving against his as I tried to catch my breath. I watched his hooded eyes follow the trail his hand was making over my collar bone and where the tops of my breast peeked out from my tank top. He bit his lip when our eyes met, then dipped his mouth down to place a series of kisses just under my ear and along the side of my throat. My fingers had dug into the skin of his lower back where my hands had crept underneath his t-shirt. He let out a sigh and his body sagged on top of mine, holding himself up just barely with his elbows. Peeta's breath was hot on my skin when he finally spoke; his voice ragged and low.

"I've been wanting to do that for years now."

At the time, I didn't know what to say. Looking back, though, I think there was a part of me that had always felt the same.

The first words that I could think of popped out of my mouth.

"You taste like spearmint. I think it's my favorite now."

He laughed and I leaned up to kiss his still smiling lips one more time before we heard Leevy banging on the door.

By the time we returned to the living room, Gale had left (taking Finn with him), and Bristol was sulking. Not really feeling up to the dealing with the fallout, Peeta offered to drive the rest of us home. Marvel complained when he took an assbackwards route to drop us all off, but when I saw the blond boy beside me smile out of the corner of my eye, I knew exactly what he was doing.

I had been inside Peeta's house exactly twice before. Both times Moira Mellark had kept a watchful eye on us and treated me like I was going to steal something the second her back was turned. So as we crept up the staircase that night, the urge to find a Sharpie and deface each and every picture that featured her was fairly strong.

His bedroom is actually the house's attic, but after what Peeta described once as one too many nights of having to listen to his brother jerk off to porn, he had made a deal with his parents. If he cleaned it out and moved everything in and out himself, what was essentially the third floor of their house would be his.

The heavy wooden door, that reminds me still of something you would find at the entryway of a medieval fortress, creaked when he pulled it open. A set of steep stairs lead up into the room; the air, despite the window unit air conditioning, got noticeably more muggy the higher that you climb. We were barely halfway to the top before I had him pinned to the steps.

There weren't a lot of words spoken that night. We'd been friends for years, and I kept waiting for the awkwardness to come along, but it never showed up. Our kisses were sloppy, and wet, and everywhere. His hands went underneath the back of my shirt, unhooking my bra with only the slightest bit of difficulty. I shoved the straps down my arms, my lips moving down along his jawline, and yanked the offending garment out through the arm of my top. Wasting no time, his hands ran up my sides; his fingers sought out the soft, sensitive skin of the sides of my breasts.

I pulled away and placed my palms flat against the step on each side of his body. The light from the lamp by his bed just barely reached our spot on the staircase; only just allowing me to catch the confused look on his face as I pushed myself off of him. I climbed the stairs then, stepping over him as I went. By the time I reached the top, he was still laying, sprawled out with his head tipped back and resting on the edge of a step, watching me. I hooked my thumbs into the fabric of the bottom of my shirt and turned to face where his bed lay, pulling it over my head. I tossed the item somewhere behind me and waited.

I don't think that he's ever moved faster.

My back had just hit the soft, down comforter covering his bed when the weight of his knees sinking down on either side of my hips jostled me around. I brought my eyes up to meet his and he opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He had to swallow forcefully before he could get the words to tumble from his lips. It was the only thing that either of us said for a while.

"Goddamn it, you're beautiful."

I took the next three seconds to swiftly peel his shirt up over his head, and then pulled his face back down to mine. It had mussed his hair, but the messy look only made me want to run my hands through it even more.

By the time we were both completely naked, it felt as if the air conditioning unit wasn't even turned on. The back of my knee was covered in sweat where it was hooked around his side. Our skin stuck together and I remember how hard it was not to be mesmerized by the drop of sweat that rolled from his shoulder, down over his chest. When it fell down his torso and disappeared into the space where my thigh pressed against him, I was finally able to tear my eyes away and look up at his face.

Other than the kissing and a fair amount of heated touches, there was really no foreplay to lead up to the main event. The look that passed between the two of us said a lot more than I would have been able to. His eyes stayed locked onto mine as he pushed himself into me; his breathing quick and shallow. As I got used to the feeling of him inside me, I reached up to push his dampened hair from his face. He trapped my hand in his and turned my wrist to place a kiss on the inside of it, gently trailing his teeth along the skin there before releasing it.

No one had ever kissed me like that before.

We spent the rest of the night in a hormone-induced haze. I played with the baby fine blond hairs that dotted his torso. He ran his nose along the lines of my stomach and chest. Things were as close to perfect as I had ever experienced.

Until his mother had caught us trying to sneak out the front door at four in the morning.

The look of pure and utter contempt on her face was severe, but brief. The shrill yelling and screaming that followed, however...

She had torn up the stairs in a fit of rage, with Peeta hot on her heels. Her angry footsteps on the staircase thundered somewhere above my head. I stood in the darkened foyer, one hand resting on the expensive entryway table that held random pieces of mail and discarded car keys, in shock. Her screams had yet to decrease in volume, but the blood pounding in my ears was giving them a pretty good run for their money. I just knew that she had woken the whole house. Over the venomous words she was spewing at her youngest son, it would have been hard for me to hear both Leif and Chord in their bedrooms upstairs. The creaking of the door opening at the end of the hall broke through the noise, however.

My eyes met with Peeta's father's at the same time the words _'good for nothing, white trash slut_' hit my ears. My mouth dropped open in shock, even though I'd always known exactly how little she had thought of me.

"I swear to God, Peeta, if you've gotten her pregnant-," her words were muffled by the sounds of things being thrown and crashes that I could only assume came from furniture being knocked over. "She will _bleed you dry_. Try to trap you, just likeher mother tried to do with those two men who knocked her up... I could make a call to DFACS, you know! Report that woman for raising her kids in such a questionable environment!"

They were coming back down to the first floor again, and I didn't hesitate as I slipped out the front door. It was still dark and I almost tripped over a sprinkler head, but didn't let that stop me. I didn't stop until I was crouched low, leaning against the side of Peeta's Jeep that faced the road. My position effectively blocked me from the view of the house, but I still heard the front door as it swung open and hit the interior wall.

"Save yourself the trouble, Peeta! Damn it! Even her own father was smart enough to take preemptive measures and got the hell out of there before she could cause him any grief!"

Peeta came running passed the front bumper of his Jeep then, turning his head from side to side. When he spotted me, his shoulders visibly relaxed and he motioned for me to hop in. I opened the driver's side door and slid across the seat, banging my knee into the console as I climbed over it. Mrs. Mellark was still standing on the front porch, but it looked as if her husband had become the new subject of her ire as he tried to pull her back inside.

The bruise on Peeta's cheek had already started to form by the time that he pulled into my driveway that morning. The scratch marks down his arms made me want to vomit, but he just kissed my face and told me over and over again that it was okay. That it wasn't my fault. That his mother was wrong. That he didn't care what she said. That he was sorry.

I didn't want him getting hurt because of me, or have to put up with his crazy mother beating the shit out of him. I couldn't risk that, and I certainly couldn't risk her threats of contacting the Division of Family and Children Services. There was nothing wrong with the way that my mother treated us, which was more that I could say for Mrs. Mellark herself, but I was sure the nights that Prim and I spent alone while she was working graveyard shifts at the hospital would not go unnoticed.

I didn't want to, but I told him that he needed to stay away from me. That being with me would be nothing but a mess for the both of us.

His response was to shake his head '_no_' and say that he finally had me, and he wasn't going to let me go. And I knew then. I knew that I didn't want to let him go, either. So I said that now that I had him, I was going to have to put him somewhere where he couldn't get hurt. Unfortunately, that would have to be somewhere that no one else could know about.

And that is precisely why Delly Cartwright is currently trying to hang all over Peeta as they're making their way passed the rows of cars in the parking lot. She doesn't know any better. She has no idea that he already belongs to me. She thinks that they'll go to this stupid dance in a few weeks, and that he'll fall under her spell. She's probably already planning the quickest way to peel her prom dress off over her head. Probably even has delusions of Peeta's hands doing the peeling.

She laughs at something he says. When she leans over so slap at his arm, it's a pretty obvious offer for him to look down her shirt. Instead, he digs his keys from the messenger bag hanging by his hip. He glances up quickly, and I know that he knows I'm here waiting for him.

I start to smile to myself, but in the same second, Delly puts her body right in front of him. I can see her start to rock up onto her tiptoes, and I swear to God, if I had something in my hand I would throw it at her right now. The kiss that she places on his cheek is just that, on his cheek. It's enough to make my vision go fuzzy for a split second, though. There's no way that something as simple as this will make me go into a full-fledged panic attack, but I slip my hand into the front pocket of my backpack just in case. My fingers close over the pill bottle, reassuring me that it's there, and I let it drop.

Her eyes stay glued to Peeta as he approaches where I stand. He doesn't even have the decency to roll his eyes at me over her actions, and I guess that we haven't reached that point in our reconciliation yet. We're both still too pissed to fall into our regular routine so soon. He's quiet when he unlocks and opens my door for me, and I follow suit, climbing in without saying a word.

I watch the muscles in his arms and shoulders strain against his t-shirt as he pulls the strap of the messenger bag over his head. He leans into the still open door and covers his body with mine as he goes to throw his things into the backseat. I can still see Delly out of the corner of my eye, and sit up a little so that my lips are right by his ear.

"That stupid bitch is still looking at you. I can't stand the way she looks at you."

He shrugs a little, his head still in the backseat with the pretense of looking for something in the floorboard. His face turns toward me just enough so that I can see his raised eyebrow, as if to say _'what are you going to about it?_'. I let him stare at me for a few seconds before placing my hand on his chest to push him away. He smiles and I finally get that eye roll out of him before he closes my door and crosses over to the driver's side.

Delly Cartwright still stands, about four cars away, her mouth hanging open in a half-sneer. I give her my biggest smile and, with a flourish, skillfully extend my middle finger.

By the time he has the car in park in front of my house, I'm more than thankful that Prim is spending the afternoon at a friend's. His pants are already undone and I'm sliding his shirt over his head barely a second after the front door closes behind us. It falls to the floor and mine joins it soon after. I toe my shoes off and kick them out of the way. He does the same, and when he leans down to kiss me, I barely register the way that one of his Converse hits the wall with a much louder bang than I'm sure he meant for it to.

"I'm still pissed at you, you know."

He pulls back a little, his fingers digging tightly into my waist. Spinning me around, he moves his hands to the button of my jeans. I can feel the way that he's already hard against my lower back.

"Well, I'm still pissed at you, too," he spits out between clenched teeth.

His hand dips down over the front of my panties and I press my backside into him as far as I can. He pushes my jeans so that they're down around my ankles, taking my underwear with them. My body folds at the waist, and I let my elbows rest on the back of the sofa. He slides into me without warning, and I gasp a little as my hips slam against the couch's frame.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

This kind of sex isn't meant to be slow, or sweet, but Peeta's particular fond of kissing. I'd be lying if I said that I'm not partial to it myself. He grabs at a fistful of my hair, pulling it just hard enough so that my head cranes back, capturing my lips with his. It's sloppy, and not head-on, but it's one of my favorites.

"I was going to."

I snake my arm down in between my legs and wrap my index finger and thumb around him where we're connected. They don't quite meet, but the pressure that I apply makes him hiss. Something about the sensation of him sliding in and out of me in combination with the way his cock feels slipping between my fingers sends me over the edge.

"Why didn't you tell me as soon as you found out?"

I gasp out the words, and when I let go of him the arm holding me up over the couch almost gives out. Peeta holds me upright, though, planting kisses along my shoulders the whole time.

"I don't know... I was going to Saturday night, but then the thing with Finn. I was pissed."

His words are clipped, and his breathing is growing more and more shallow. He's getting close.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Peeta."

He seems to take my words literally, and thrusts deeper and faster until my legs feel wobbly and like they're made of Jell-O. I throw one hand over my shoulder and tangle my fingers into his hair. He brushes his lips along my arm and nips gently at the inside of my elbow.

"What? I know how easily girls fall in love with Finn..."

He comes, and his chest falls flush against my back for a moment before he pulls away. I close my eyes and lean onto the couch for support until I manage to regain my balance. When I turn to face him, Peeta is pulling his pants up from around his ankles. I mimic his movements and catch his eye as I zip my jeans. I really need to pee, but his words have managed to re-ignite my irritation.

"Yeah, well, he's not you." The words come out a lot harsher than I wanted them to, but that's nothing new.

He bends to pick his shoes up from the floor, and looks at me over his shoulder for a second before turning back around. He runs the heel of his hand along his brow, and I can tell he's starting to get angry.

"Fuck, Katniss, I don't even _know_ exactly how you feel about me."

It's my turn to be angry now.

"That's _bullshit_."

Shaking his head in disbelief, he bends back down to tie his shoes. He won't even look at me as he double-knots the laces.

"Is it? Because I think it's bullshit how the girl that I've been saying 'I love you' to for almost a year now can't say it back!"

This makes, maybe, the fourth time that I've ever heard Peeta Mellark raise his voice. It's irritating and sexy at the same time. It also causes me to lose any semblance of a cool head that I had, and I raise mine right back at him.

"They're just words, Peeta!"

"Exactly! They're just words. So why can't you say them?"

He throws his hands in the air. I hesitate to answer and he just shakes his head slowly, a look of disbelief on his face. The look of defeat in his eyes makes me feel like I'm choking, and I have to swallow down the angry lump that's formed in my throat.

"I do... Just... Just not the way that you want me to."

He pulls his shirt on in one quick movement. His hair falls unceremoniously into his eyes and I become irrationally angry at how beautiful he is, even now, yelling at me in my living room.

"That's it! _Right there_. Everything about this, everything about us, is always on your terms!"

"I-"

He cuts me off, and runs his now shaking hands over his eyes. The guilt sneaks up on me quickly and, even though I'm starting to feel bad for putting the boy in front of me into his current state, my need to fight back is rapidly building. I've never been good at just letting someone yell at me, no matter how right they might be.

"No, there's nothing you can say to make it better. It's exactly like it was before that stupid party... I'm in love with you and no one gets to know. I'm in love with you and whatever you're feeling you get to keep a secret. It's exactly the same, except now I get to fuck you. I'm so tired of it! I'm just so tired."

I know that I shouldn't say it, but his words, no matter how true, are making me feel like shit. They make me feel like fighting dirty.

"Well, I'm tired of the way that every single man in your family is scared so fucking shitless of your mother that they refuse to stand up to her just once."

There's barely a second's pause in between my words and his.

"Maybe she was right. Maybe I should have taken those _preemptive measures _a long time ago, and just stayed the hell away from you."

The instant the words leave his mouth, I can tell that he wants to take them back. He'd probably give anything to take them back, but something inside my chest freezes and I feel my hands curl into fists at my sides.

My voice sounds foreign and colder than I've ever heard it before, and I'm not sure what I'll do if he doesn't pay heed to the words the come from my mouth. Thankfully, he doesn't question them.

"Leave. Now."


	4. Chapter 4

"He's my friend, but you know that I'll beat the shit out of him if you want me to."

Gale's words startle me and I nearly slide off the hood of Finnick's car. He leans casually against the passenger side door and waits for my response as he lights his cigarette.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

He scoffs and I feel a small sense of satisfaction when he chokes on a mouthful of smoke. After shooting me a look that clearly means to say 'shut the hell up', he just stands there in silence. The best thing about Gale is that he understands that most people's need for words just doesn't apply when it comes to me.

I've successfully managed to avoid Peeta, along with any other real, meaningful human interaction since Monday afternoon.

Complaining about a migraine that didn't really exist had done the trick on Tuesday morning. After my mother had left for work, I spent the day puttering around the house, not bothering to change out of my pajamas. Listening to Tori Amos on repeat and eating Ben and Jerry's Phish Food was the highlight of my day. After finding out that we would still have a sub in Econ for the remainder of the week, I was easily able to skip the class. Knowing that I wouldn't be missing much of anything, I opted to spend the period dozing in the backseat of Marvel's car.

I'd even managed to somehow avoid seeing him in the parking lot after school each day, using my need to rush off to work as an excuse. With Marvel also working those days at the small grocery store on the other side of town, he'd been happy to give me a lift as soon as school was out.

Not having to work today is proving to be a problem, however.

Yeah, it's hard to ignore Peeta when he's only yards away. It's hard to ignore the fact that he's wearing those stupid jeans again. He's facing away from me now, and as he moves to adjust the bag over his shoulder, his shirt rides up just enough so that I can make out the holes above the back pockets. It's even harder to ignore how Delly fucking Cartwright has her hand wrapped around his forearm and hasn't let go of it for the last five minutes.

I'm suddenly looking forward to the party tonight. In fact, I'm not sure that I've ever wanted a drink more in my life.

"I'm not stupid, Catnip," Gale's voice cuts through my thoughts. I look over to see him nodding in Peeta's direction, a half-smile on his lips. "And I know that you can be a real bitch and all, but usually there's a reason behind it. I kind of put two and two together..."

"Gale, I..." My voice trails off.

I really don't know what to say. Looking back over to Peeta, my face starts to heat when I see Delly's hand reaching up to muss his curls. He spins around playfully and his ice blue eyes find mine over her shoulder. I feel my mouth fall open just slightly at the large bruise over his left cheekbone. He looks away and I feel like I'm going to be sick to my stomach.

Gale sighs and stretches his arms out, letting his head fall back onto the roof of the car. He doesn't look at me as he continues, his eyes closed to shield the sun overhead.

"You know, it's not really Finn that he's the most worried about when it comes to you."

Okay, now I really don't know what he's talking about.

I cock my head to the side and look over at him. His eyes are no longer closed, but he's still not looking at me. When a good thirty seconds have passed and he's still silent, I hop off the hood and move to stand beside him. Plucking his cigarette from between his fingers, I take a long drag and hold it out for him to take back. This pretty much forces him to look at me, and I widen my eyes in a silent signal for him to go on.

"He knows that Finn is harmless. He's too wrapped up in trying to impress Annie and we've all seen how hard you roll your eyes at the way he still flirts with anything with tits," he pauses and looks back to Peeta for a split second. I follow his gaze and see that he's trying to make it seem as if he's not watching the two of us over Delly's head. "Nope, Peeta worries about me the most."

My eyes narrow and I try to make sense of it all. Sure, Gale and I have been friends since we could walk, but there's never been anything romantic between the two of us. As far as I'm concerned, there's never even been a hint of it. Yeah, it's almost impossible to deny that he's good-looking, but thinking that the guy beside me is hot is about as far as my thoughts of that nature have progressed.

I want to ask what he means. I want to ask why Peeta would get that idea. I can't, though. Something inside of me just won't let the words come out. I still can't bring myself to verbally confirm what Gale already knows. I hate myself just a little bit more for it.

"He knows that we're a lot alike. We've got more history... more in common."

He starts to laugh and I'm confused.

"You should've seen the look on his face, I don't know... maybe close to a year ago, when I told him that I thing for you."

_What?_

Gale must see the surprise on my face because he starts to laugh once again. He reaches out to place a hand on my arm, and I look up at him.

"Don't freak out and run away, Catnip. It was a while ago... I'm over it. Your... _lack of availability_ has been pretty obvious to me for a while now."

We both look over to Peeta once more, and for the first time, I understand just why the crease between his eyebrows deepens when he looks at Gale and me. He's trying not to let it show, but his gaze flickers from Delly's face to Gale's hand on my arm more times than I'm sure he'd like. Normally, my mind would race at this new piece of information. It would work out the easiest way to make him jealous. I would normally be searching for the quickest way to turn this into some sort of game; a game that ends with that crooked smile that I love on his face and him in between my legs.

Then, I remember him throwing his mother's words back in face and how it had made my blood feel like ice water in my veins. Knowing that his bitch of a mother is most likely the reason behind his bruised face doesn't exactly help, either. I'm suddenly torn between my anger over his words and the almost overwhelming need to protect him, take his face into my hands and trail my lips over the purple and greens that mar his skin. My hands start to shake a little now just thinking about it.

I spot Marvel, Madge, and Thresh making their way toward us. Finnick isn't far behind, throwing a little goodbye wave in Annie's direction. I swallow hard when it becomes apparent that Peeta is moving to join us as well, that little urchin, Delly, right at his side. Grabbing Gale's wrist hard, I lean in and whisper roughly.

"You cannot tell anyone else, Gale." I try my hardest to let him see the desperation in my eyes. "Please."

"Don't worry about it, Catnip." He smiles as he says it and I can feel my shoulders relax a little. "I got your back."

I want to thank him. I want to let him know how lucky I am to have a friend like him who understands, even without having to know all of the sordid details. Instead, I'm almost knocked off the hood of the car as Marvel slides into place beside me. He's bouncing up and down like a little kid, which can only mean one thing...

"Guys, Cato sent me a text like, twenty minutes ago to let me know that he knows a guy who has some E..."

_Yep._

It's almost imperceptible, but at the mention of Marvel's older cousin, I see Peeta's hand twitch. His fingers curl slightly, hinting at the fist that I know he wants to make. A cold feeling comes over me as I see Delly mistake his actions for him wanting to hold her hand. I'm practically paralyzed watching her twine her fingers with his and, for a second, I forget to keep my face impassive. My lips part and I'm sure that I look like a fish out of water, mouth opening and closing, wondering exactly what the hell is happening to me. I'm scared that my shaky exhale is as loud to everyone else as it seems to me and I have to lower my head, letting my hair form a protective curtain around me.

He's fucking _letting_ her hold his hand.

"Cato says he'll have it tonight, and that he'd cut me a deal."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes even though I know that no one would see me. Marvel says this every time that his cousin manages to get his hands on some E. Seeing as how Cato is the only one that will sell it to him, I've always argued that he has no idea whether he's actually getting a good deal, or not. Again, though, just like with the cheap booze we all shared at the pool the other night, beggars can't be choosers.

Stuck inside my head, I realize that Marvel is going around our circle, taking notes of exactly who wants in. He says he needs to get back to Cato as soon as possible. I don't even have to lift my eyes to know that Gale, Thresh, and Finnick are nodding their heads.

"What about you guys? Katniss? Peeta? You in?"

He's staring at me when I make the mistake of looking up. He has one corner of his bottom lip pulled into his mouth, and I don't even have to ask myself what he's thinking about.

The first time that we rolled together had been about a week before school had started back for the year. Thresh's birthday had been cause for celebration and Cato had managed to get his hands on some E for the first time in what he had described as_ 'for-fucking-ever'_. Out of all of us, I think that Finn and Thresh had been the only two that had ever tried it before. They'd told us what we could expect, but as we all learned, it was really something you had to experience firsthand to truly comprehend.

That night we ended up breaking the seat tracks on the passenger side of his Jeep. He still hasn't gotten it repaired. You have to brace yourself with your feet firm against the floorboard if you want to stop yourself from rolling back and forth each time he hits the brakes. He still gets that dark, hungry look in his eyes each time I rock the seat on purpose.

I had bitten Peeta's lip until it almost bled and his hands had left faint bruises along my hips. Inside the car, in the middle of August, with a light drizzle of rain hitting the windshield, the air had been muggy. My hair had stuck to the back of my neck, slick with sweat, frizzing at the ends, but I didn't care. After we had finished, somehow having moved from the front passenger seat to being stretched out across the back, I laid there with my head against his chest. His heartbeat was loud, but I couldn't be sure if it was because of the way he'd just fucked me into oblivion, or the way the drug had heightened my senses.

His hand tangled in my hair as he ran it down the length of my arm, and he played with the disheveled locks for a few seconds. The slight tugs on my scalp from his movements shot tiny darts of pleasure through my body and I reached my arm behind me in order to bring his lips down to meet mine. Three, feather light kisses later, he pressed his mouth to the spot just above my ear and whispered that he loved me for the first time.

My mouth fell open at his words and I remember how his arms had tightened around me, bringing me even closer to his bare chest. I shifted a little so that I could look at his face. The smile on his lips was bordering on shy, but mostly giddy with the fact that he'd finally worked up the balls to tell me. I had been able to practically see the confession, hanging on the edge of his tongue, for weeks by that point.

And, in that moment, I almost felt that I could say it back. I almost did.

My lips refused to form the words, though. Instead, I moved so that I could rest one hand on the side of his face, and use the other to draw a slow, deliberate figure eight in the fog that had collected on the window. I kissed him on the cheek, and then again just beneath his jaw line, as he turned his head to see what I'd done.

I couldn't tell you why I did it. Maybe it was something that I'd seen in some cheesy movie, or picked up in a book at some point or another. In my drug-induced haze, it made sense, though. At times when I'm by myself, left alone with my thoughts and able to be truly honest, it still makes sense.

Infinity. Forever. Always.

Those are the things that I felt that night, wrapped up in his arms with the feel of his breath ghosting over my skin. Though I couldn't say what he wanted to hear, I whispered those three words (in my mind just as powerful as any_ 'I love you'_) against his lips. He had smiled into my declaration and traced the symbol across my lower back and, for a long while, it seemed as if everything was going to be alright.

But now... Now, we're stuck standing in a parking lot, having to pretend that we're not hopelessly mad about/mad at each other. I feel like I'm going to throw up and he... Well, he's still got Delly Cartwright's fucking hand in his.

His eyes are still on me when he opens his mouth to answer Marvel.

"Oh my God!" Delly's voice, which is probably not nearly as high-pitched as I perceive it to be, doesn't give anyone else a chance to talk. "I've always wanted to try E. My cousin, Shelby, dropped acid last summer and told me _all_ about it. If it's anything like that, I definitely want in!"

I snort loudly before I can think better of it. Thresh has taken over Gale's spot to my right and nudges me in the side before grinning down at me. He rolls his eyes a little and I try not to laugh again. I fail.

"What?"

I can hear the disdain in her voice and picture the way that I'm just sure she wants to stamp her foot at me like a child. When I look over at her, she's got her eyes narrowed and free hand on her hip. I'd like to break her other one. Instead, I just simply shrug.

"I didn't say a word."

"Alrighty then," Marvel cuts in, waving his cellphone in the air in order to show everyone that he has a text started. "Peeta, Katniss... In or out?"

Peeta lifts one shoulder.

"Yeah, sure."

Delly giggles and jumps up and down in place. The smile on her face as she looks up at Peeta makes me feel more inadequate than anything else. He deserves to have someone that openly looks at him in this way. I hate her for it. I hate myself a little bit more, though.

"Whatever. Just tell Cato that I'm only paying half of what you guys are," I say as I push myself off the side of the car and move past Peeta. The back of my hand brushes his wrist and I hope the falter in my step at the slight contact doesn't show. "I've gotta' go meet Prim. I'll see you guys tonight."

"You sure you don't need a ride?"

I turn to look over my shoulder at Finnick and shoot him a grateful smile, but wave my hand anyway.

"Nah, it's cool. I kind of feel like walking."

Hours later, I still haven't managed to completely calm down.

Madge is pulling me along behind her, her fingers wrapped tightly around mine, as we make our way through the crowd of people already littering the front lawn. I recognize the guy taking money at the door, but am already pulling a wadded up five dollar bill from my back pocket as we climb the steps. Madge stops me, though, taking the money and stuffing back into my pants.

"Hey, Darius," she says, flirt-mode turned up to high volume. "How's it going?"

If I wasn't already used to the way that Madge has with the opposite sex, I would probably be surprised by how the guy in front of us is suddenly standing up taller, his chest puffed out. He pushes his chin-length red hair behind his ear and nods.

He's tall and gangly, and works dispatch down at the sheriff's office three days a week. Even though he's not a cop, Gale can't help but worry that what goes on at these parties is going to one day make it back to the wrong set of ears. From what I know of him, though, Darius is a good guy. Besides, he's only 19 and we live in an impossibly small town... If he rats anyone out, how will he spend his weekends?

"Madge," he says with a smile that I can tell he's trying hard to tame. "What's up?"

"Oh, you know," she starts, biting down lightly on her bottom lip. "Just came to support the bands. You guys are playing after Cato's band, right?"

I bury my face into her shoulder to help hide my smile. She lifts her arm and I can feel her hand pat the back of my head while she continues to flirt. I'm almost tempted to bite her in order to let her know she needs to get this show on the road, when I feel her start to move forward. Throwing a little wave over her shoulder as we enter the house, she takes my hand again.

"See you later, Darius!"

Her smile drops as soon as she turns to face forward and the laugh that makes its way out of me almost sounds like a bark. Madge just smirks.

"Yeah, we're just here to _support the bands_, right? With all that money we just paid to get in?"

"Oh, whatever," she replies and steers me in the direction of the backdoor. "Come on. Gale said they'd be waiting out back for us."

It's not hard to spot them across the backyard. They're gathered in a semi-circle around where Cato stands near the back fence. We join them, filling the gap to make the ring complete, and Madge sidles up to Gale immediately. I don't bother to speak, and just listen as she says her hellos.

I push my hair behind my ears and keep my eyes trained on my shoe. It's not hard to feel Cato's stare on me, but it's easy for me to ignore it at the moment. I'm too caught up in the stupid flannel shirt that Peeta's got on; the same one that he wore the night of Thresh's party. I remember how soft it felt when I ran my hands over it, and how its blues and greys only made his eyes seem that much brighter to me. He probably wore the fucker on purpose.

"Peeta, where's Delly?"

Madge's words rip me from my trancelike state and I slowly bring my head up. I glance to where he stands on my right and watch as he rubs at the back of his neck.

_She's sick. She's not coming. She got hit by a bus._

"She'll be here in a little while."

"Good," Madge smiles, and links her arm through Gale's as everyone starts to disperse. "Maybe this means I can avoid having to see her _all_ night."

I let the corner of my mouth lift at Madge's comment. Cato's loud laugh reminds me that he's still standing across from me, leaving just the two of us and Peeta. When Peeta doesn't respond to the insult, Cato steps forward, clapping him on the back as he slides a wadded up sandwich bag into his hand.

"Cartwright? The blonde cheerleader chick, right? Nice."

Peeta nods, looking uninterested in speaking a single word to the tall, overly muscled guy in front of us. He presses some cash into Cato's hand, and I watch as it's counted. For a second, I wonder if he's paying for Delly's, or if she gave him the money for it earlier.

"So, Kat," Cato says. I fucking hate it when people call me that. "How's it going?"

He takes a step in my direction and I note the way that Peeta's stance changes ever so slightly. He's jutted one leg out so that it forms a minor, albeit effective, barrier between Cato's body and my own. The tension is practically coming off of him in waves, and I wish, not for the first time, that I didn't find it so hot.

"It's going." My voice sounds tight and closed off, but judging by the way that his eyes are wandering over my body, I doubt Cato heard me in the first place. I extend my hand so that he doesn't have to move any closer. "How much do I owe you?"

He smirks a little and finally seems to find my eyes. If I wasn't so used to his sleazeball act, I'd probably be squirming right now. Instead, I cross my arms over my chest and cock my head to one side. I hope the look that I'm giving him will encourage him to hurry this up, but I'm fairly certain he sees my 'I'm tired of your bullshit' demeanor as me just playing hard to get.

"Don't worry about it." There's almost a purr in his voice, and I see Peeta's hand curl into a fist out of the corner of my eye. "I'm sure we can work something out later on."

I'm getting ready to tell him to forget the whole thing and go fuck himself when someone calls his name from across the yard. He drops the pill in my hand, free of the baggie that I noticed everyone else had gotten theirs in, and winks at me before walking off. I stuff it into the pocket of my shorts and turn to walk away. I'm not even in the mood to roll, but free shit is free shit.

"You probably shouldn't take that." Peeta's voice carries over the otherwise quiet backyard, and I stop walking. It's the first thing he's said to me since Monday. I hear the fallen twigs and pine needles crunching under his feet as he comes closer. "I don't trust that prick."

I spin around quickly and just stare at him for a second. The moon is full tonight, casting plenty of light through the trees overhead. His eyes look glassy, but I know it's because he probably started drinking hours ago with the guys. My eyes fall on his bruised cheek, and my stomach lurches again, just like it did earlier in the parking lot.

"What happened to your face?"

"I got into with Chord."

His voice is flat, and I wonder why he even bothers with trying to lie to me. He knows that I won't believe him.

I let out a short, humorless laugh.

"That's bullshit."

"What do you want me to say?" He shrugs, and looks me dead in the eye. His breathing picks up just enough to let me know that I can expect a fight, whether I want one, or not. I don't, but I'm guessing that doesn't matter right now. "You want me to tell you that I got home Monday afternoon, picked a fight with my mom, and she knocked the shit out of me with a rolling pin? Is that what you want me to say?"

I don't know how to respond, so I don't. I start to bring my hand up, wanting to push his hair back from his forehead to make sure no more damage was done, but I drop it before it can reach him. I swallow hard and our staring contest continues on for another beat.

"Peeta..." My tone is disappointed, and I can tell as soon as his name leaves my mouth that silence would have been preferable.

"What? I thought you'd be happy that I was finally standing up to her?"

Most of the time, I feel much older than my seventeen years. Essentially raising my little sister while my mom works her ass off at the hospital, using half of my paycheck every two weeks to help insure that our lights stay on and, more often than not, being the voice of reason amongst my friends has made me feel this way.

Right now, though... With Peeta looking at me with that sneer on his face (something that I've never seen him actually do), I feel like a petulant child. We both have every reason to be mad at the other, but right now I don't care about his right to be angry. Right now, all I want is to yell and try to get my point across.

"I may have said that, but you don't seem to_ fucking understand _that what I really want is for you... Is for you to stop getting hurt! You've got to stop getting hurt because of me! You don't need that, and I don't need it, either!"

The words are coming out all wrong and can be taken in so many ways that I know he'll take something away from them that I don't actually mean. I just wish that I could let him see inside my head so that he could understand. I just want him to see that I know how wonderful he is... and how he deserves so much more. More than me and what I can (_what I can't) _give him. I want him to see that just because I don't give him the things that he craves, doesn't mean that I don't want to. It just means that I don't fucking know how.

"Whatever, Katniss."

He stalks off, popping one of the pills into his mouth and downing it with a long pull from a bottle of Mt. Dew that I know is mixed heavily with vodka. I watch him disappear into the house, and only follow once I'm sure that I'm not going to cry.

About an hour later, and a good five or six drinks in, I'm leaning back against a wall beside Finn and Thresh, watching one of the bands finish up their set. As far as bands whose biggest gigs include playing in someone's living room, they weren't too bad. When I go to bring myself upright, Thresh puts his hands on my shoulders to steady my movements.

"Whoa there," his deep voice causes my head to spin around so that I can face him. I really should have paced myself. "You okay?"

"Yeah," I say, though I can already tell that I'm going to need to slow down. Even in my own ears, the word sounds high pitched and drawn out.

"Heartburn already?" He grins down at me, and I take the hand that I didn't even realize I'd been holding over my chest and swat at him.

"Shut it."

I plant my feet as firmly as I can with each step as I start to walk away. I haven't gone far when I see them across the room. The way that Delly's hands are running up and down Peeta's forearms, giggling the entire time, tells me that she's already peaking. I feel even more unsteady on my feet as I watch her nails leave little red track marks in their wake.

I must be more unstable than I thought because just as Peeta looks up and catches my eye, I stumble backward. My shoulder slams into someone's chest and I turn to see Cato peering down at me with a half-smirk on his lips. His fingers close around my elbow and I try not to jerk my arm away as his thumb rubs slow circles along my skin.

"Not trying to slip away before my band plays, are you, girlie?"

_Girlie? ...the fuck?_

I give him a tight-lipped smile.

"Of course not," I start, seeing that Peeta is watching us.

I hear Delly let out a squeal for no apparent reason and then watch as she leans her head into the crook of his neck. Even through the thick haze of anger I'm still feeling toward him about, well, almost everything, I nearly feel sorry that he's stuck having to babysit her. Of course, just as this thought crosses through my mind, he wraps his arms loosely around her waist, and I remember that he's riding the same high that she is.

I look back up at Cato, and continue.

"I was just going to step outside to smoke. I'll be back."

He leans down and places his lips beside my ear. I drop both of my arms to my sides, effectively releasing my elbow from his grip. Having him this close to my face is more than enough without him touching me anywhere else. The shiver that his action elicits is nothing like the one I get from the feel of Peeta's hot breath on my skin.

I catch sight of Johanna Mason passing by us. There's a smirk on her face, and she keeps her eyes on me until she disappears down the hallway.

"You should come find me later."

Cato's whisper is something that I would have been fine going my entire life without having to hear.

Hearing Delly's laughter from behind me once again, I just nod once and pull away. I see Gale and Madge a little farther down the hallway, and pull the pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket without him even noticing. Madge giggles a little as she watches me extract one, and then throw the pack to her over his shoulder.

"What the...?"

He turns to face me, but I'm already pushing the back door open and stepping out in the muggy night air. I pull the lighter out of my pocket and survey the area. There are significantly more party-goers out here now, and absolutely none of them are people I'd even know how to talk to. I see Glimmer's older brother, Gloss, standing beside the keg and he nods toward me. Lifting my hand in recognition, I continue to walk in the opposite direction.

There's an old, rusted trampoline in the side yard that looks pretty welcoming at the moment. Mostly because there's not a soul around this corner of the house and when I lay on my back, there's an unobstructed view of the moon. It takes a second to find a position that doesn't make me feel like I'm going to choke on the smoke filling my lungs. When I do finally manage to find one, I'm immediately jostled out of it by someone else's weight causing the springs to groan.

"You can fuck him if you want to, you know."

Her voice is loud, and I look up just in time to watch as she plucks the Camel light from between my fingers and uses it to light her own.

We don't really know each other. In fact, I'm not sure that a lot of people know what Johanna Mason's full story is. We've talked a few times, mostly at parties, or when she stops by Subway while I'm working. She's the girl that's shrouded in just enough mystery to make the guys want to fuck her, and the girls want to make up shit behind her back.

I know that she's older, maybe even a year or two ahead of Cato when they were in school. A lot of people seem to think that the two of them are a thing. Sure, they may screw around with each other, but for some reason, I've always thought she was smarter than that. She was a sophomore, I think, when she moved here to live with her Great Aunt just outside of town. There had been rumors about that being her only living family member, something about her parents and brother dying in a fire. Of course, after getting suspended for nearly breaking a girl's wrist her first week of school, there had also been stories of her being sent away for being _'too much'_ for her parents to handle.

If I thought it was any of my business, I'd ask. It's not, though, so I don't.

I make a disgusted noise and can see her shoulders shake in a silent chuckle.

"No, thanks."

She pulls her legs up to where she's sitting Indian-style. She's not looking at me and I realize that if I weren't so drunk, I probably wouldn't be staring at her the way that I am right now. It's hard to deny that she's pretty, but easy to admit that there's something also hard about her that's kind of frightening. When she turns in my direction, I note that she really only talks out of one side of her mouth.

"Don't knock it 'til you've tried it. He's not the best, by any means, but he gets an 'a' for effort."

I sit up and wait for everything to stop spinning before I answer her. She smirks and ashes her cigarette on the trampoline in front of her instead of off the side. A tiny bit lands on my shoe, and but my foot feels too heavy to kick it off.

"I think that I'm just going to stay away from guys and sex and all of that shit for a while."

"Aww." Her voice is thick with sarcasm. "Did someone break Katniss Everdeen's little heart?"

That's funny. I wasn't even aware that she knew my name. Other than feeling slightly shocked at that, I really can only focus on the undying need that I feel to throw sarcasm right back in her face. I have a feeling that her attempt to make me feel uncomfortable is almost some sort of test.

"Pretty sure at this point, he thinks that I don't even have a heart to begin with."

Just like earlier, with Peeta, there's a disconnect between what I want to say and what actually makes it out of my mouth. That came out a little more flowery than I would've liked.

"Poetic," she replies, rolling her eyes. She finishes her cigarette and throws her head back to down the last of her beer.

"Whatever. I'm starting to think that there's not much of a point to the whole 'loving someone' thing, anyway..."

Something changes in her eyes and she doesn't just look mildly amused by my ramblings anymore. The springs squeak as she lowers herself back onto solid ground. Her eyelids flutter closed and it's easy enough to read her lips. I can see that she's counting and once she reaches five, she slowly looks back up at me. Shaking her head slightly, her hands ball into fists at her sides.

"Maybe you just shouldn't take shit for granted."

And, with that, she's gone. I hear the backdoor slam shut even over the sounds of the band that's started to play.

_Well, fuck._

I sit until I'm sure I can stand without falling over. I even wait for the heartburn to dissipate; forcing myself to burp in a way that I'm sure is not attractive, but still helps. When I round the corner, Finn spots me from a few yards away and waves me over. He presses a plastic cup into my hand and insists that I try whatever he's managed to mix together. It reminds me of cough syrup and the taste that Skittles leave in your mouth after you've eaten them. I tell him to lay off the Jager next time, but finish off the cup anyway.

"You know," he says, throwing an arm over my shoulder and pulling me against his side. "If I wasn't so into Annie, Miss Everdeen..."

"Don't you dare finish that sentence, Finn."

He looks down at where my finger is poking at his chest and I tilt my chin up so that I can see his face better. Everything seems to sway a little, even though I'm sure that I'm completely still. At least I think that I'm completely still. He smiles and an actual giggle slips out just before he slaps his hand over his mouth. This happens every time he's fucked up, but he always seems to treat it as if it's something that's never occurred before.

"Oh, Finn. You're such a girl."

"_You're_ such a ... girl."

Usually he can do much better than that, but I'll cut him some slack since he's wasted.

"Is everyone crashing at your place again tonight?" He calls out to me over his shoulder while walking toward the gate that leads to where the keg is in the garage. He leans for the latch about six inches short of where it's actually located, and I try not to laugh at him.

"Yeah, that's fine. Prim is going to be home, though, so no one in her room, and no stripping down to your boxers on the couch!" I pause to watch as he shoots me a sloppy salute. "Actually, everyone can just sleep on the floor in my room. I don't trust anyone not to get naked, and my little sister doesn't need to see that shit."

"Yes, ma'am. You want anything?" He holds his empty cup out for me to see, but I shake my head.

"Nah. I'm going to head inside."

My hand is still on the doorknob when I see Peeta stepping out of the laundry room not far ahead on my left. Maybe it's the Skittle-spit flavored drink that Finn gave me, or maybe it's even Johanna's scathing advice to not take anything for granted, but suddenly all I want is to make things right. He notices me standing here and I take a step forward. I don't know if I'm going to say something or just grab his face and kiss him, not caring who's around to see.

Then a hand clutches his shoulder and Delly appears at his side. I take in the pinkish red splotches that cover one side of his neck and how his jaw is covered with the thin, sticky sheen of her lip gloss. Her hair has been thrown into a messy ponytail and she's wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand.

I'm frozen in place as my eyes travel downward. His hands go to tug at the bottom of his shirt, and I just fucking _know_. Delly stumbles a little, her head landing on his shoulder, and I think I might throw up. I don't care how fucking melodramatic it sounds, but it feels like someone has cut open my chest and locked their fingers in a death grip around my heart. I can almost feel my limbs growing cold and numb as the life drains from my body.

He starts to say my name, but I can't even look at him as I finally manage to shove my way around the two of them.

It's not until I take a deep breath and get a mouthful of hot, humid air that I see I've made it through the house and out the front door. My legs are shaky, but the only thing that's going through my mind is how I need to get the hell out of here. I don't know how far I've gone before I think of how my house is at least six or seven miles from here. I stop for a second; listening for any signs of the party I just left.

It's hard to hear anything over the sound of my own heart beating in my ears, though.

The county doesn't bother putting streetlights this far outside of town, and the tall pine trees that line the road effectively block out most of the moonlight. The tunnel vision that's starting to take over, with its fuzzy, blackened edges, makes it seem even darker. It can't block out the flashes of what I saw, though.

Delly's hand, clutching Peeta's shoulder. The skin of his neck, recently attacked by her stupid lips. How, even in the dim light of the hallway, I could make out the traces of her lip gloss along his jaw. The dazed look in her eyes as she wiped at the back of her mouth. His hands pulling at the bottom of his t-shirt, stretching the fabric down over the fly of his pants.

My stomach lurches for the third time today and, even though I can feel its burn as it comes back up, I know that the liquor has the least to do with how badly I feel right now.


	5. Chapter 5

I wake up flush against someone's back with a mouthful of their hair.

_Great. As if my body doesn't feel like a fucking wasteland already._

Of course memories of precisely why my mouth is so dry and absolutely, for lack of a better word, foul-tasting hit me and my entire body tenses against whoever I'm currently pressing it into. I feel the soft flannel sheets underneath the hand that's trapped between the pillow and mattress and relax the tiniest bit. That, in combination with the comforting whirring of my ceiling fan (the loose screw that I'm too lazy -and short- to fix causing the clinking sound that I've gotten so used to) lets me know that I'm at least in my own room. The uncomfortable bite that the waistband of my shorts is causing also lets me know that I'm still fully dressed.

I'm scared to move though, and the person sharing my bed doesn't feel particularly familiar. With my eyes still closed tight, I inhale as deeply as I can through my nose without making a sound. I'd be grossed out by my actions any other time, but, let's face it, I just had this person's hair in my mouth for fuck's sake. Sniffing them seems exponentially more normal at the moment. An overwhelming mixture of clove cigarettes and weed makes it impossible to discern my bedmate though, and I'm forced to crack open my eyelids.

My nose, mouth, and entire face are nestled in a bed of blonde hair.

_Fuck._

The rational part of my brain has obviously not woken up yet, because all I can think right now is about putting as much distance between myself and the person in front of me as possible. It's not until I've scrambled up against the wall, knocking my phone and an entire glass of water from my nightstand that I'm able to process things on a normal level. The hair haloing around the head on the other pillow of my bed is blonde, yes. However, it's also curly (which rules out the idea that Cato has somehow managed to work his way in between my sheets), but not nearly as soft as Peeta's. The taste of too much anti-frizz product that still lingers on my tongue should have been a clear indication, really.

Madge rolls over onto her back and I sigh with relief. Of course, the giant fucking mascara stains all across my pillowcase make my eyes narrow, which, in turn, makes my head hurt like a son of a bitch. Covering my face with one hand, the other blindly reaches out for the nightstand. Once my fingers start making a small splashing noise, I groan and uncover my eyes to watch as the water drips down into the slowly expanding puddle on the floor.

When I stand, I barely hesitate before picking up Madge's discarded skirt from the floor and tossing it over the damp spot. She'll live. I, however, will be forced to wash that pillowcase, and it's the only thing that I have that still smells like his shampoo. Not that I would ever admit to being sentimental over something as stupid as that, of course.

Trying not to think of the look on his face last night is a lot easier when my throat feels like it's lined with sandpaper. At least it is until I reach the bottom of the stairs and see everyone sprawled across the living room like they had originally planned to be. Everyone, including Peeta, who has the throw from the back of the couch draped over him as he dozes in the recliner.

My fingers form a vice-like grip on the handrail, and I have to remind myself to breathe. The fucking nerve he has even being in this house after what happened last night knocks me off balance. My feet (and anger) have carried me halfway across the room, and I'm ready to snatch the throw from his body when the sound of a throat clearing from the entryway of the kitchen grabs my attention instead.

I take in his scowl, along with messy, chin-length dark hair and bloodshot grey eyes, and instantly know how I must have made it home last night.

His eyes are hard as they land on mine and he jerks his head in the direction of the kitchen behind him.

"Why don't you come have a little talk with me, sweetheart?"

I can't tell you the exact amount of time that my mom has been seeing Haymitch Abernathy, but it must be getting close to around a year now. I don't know much about him, other than he was apparently pretty good at looking for the answers to life's questions at the bottom of a bottle before he became a substance abuse counselor at the same hospital my mom works at. And he has a weird aversion to actually calling people by their given name. I do recall telling him the next time that he called me 'sweetheart' I would knee him in the balls. Well, I remember mumbling it to myself under my breath, anyway.

Regardless, the fact that I made it home safe last night, and he seems to be the reason why permits him at least one free pass. I guess.

I've filled a glass to its brim with water and downed half of the contents before I turn to join him at the small table along the only wall that has a window. It's cloudy out, and my aching head and sore eyes are grateful. I settle into one of the hard, wooden chairs that hardly get any use. Mom is usually at work or sleeping during meal times so Prim and I have taken to eating in front of the television in the living room on most occasions.

In fact, I think that this whole section of the room gets used the most by Gale when he's busy packing another bowl. Knowing this hardly makes it seem appropriate for the 'heart to heart' that I'm about to have with my mother's boyfriend. Not that the heart to heart really seems all that right in the first place.

"I have to say, I'm pretty impressed with the company you keep."

His words surprise me, and I raise my eyes up from the table to look at his face. His voice is usually so gruff and low that it makes it hard to discern sarcasm from anything of a genuine nature. I search his face for any sign that he may be fucking with me. Surely he is. I mean, hell, an alcohol and drug counselor telling me that he approves of my group of friends... the same group of friends that he undeniably witnessed wasted out of their minds just last night?

He _has_ to be fucking with me.

"Well, don't look at me like that." He pauses to take a sip from his cup of coffee. I realize that I'm scowling and, as much as I'd prefer to continue, it is making my head hurt something awful. "Don't get me wrong, you're all a bunch of idiots. Still, though. They were all here; ready to knock down the damn door not ten minutes after I dragged your sorry ass into bed, just to make sure that you were okay."

I raise a brow at this bit of information. In all honesty, it's not something that I can say I would ever expect from any of them, save for Peeta. And after the way that our interaction went last night... Whatever. At any rate, I've gotten used to taking on the role of mother hen more often than not when it comes to my group of friends, so the thought that they would at least try to do the same for me is almost enough to make me forget just how shitty I feel at the moment.

"Seem like they're good kids. Even if princess wears too much makeup and tall, dark, and broody smells like dog shit. Hell, you're a good kid, too, sweetheart... So do you want to tell me exactly why I found you emptying your stomach on the side of the road last night?"

"If I said 'not really' would you let me leave it at that?"

I watch as one corner of his mouth quirks upward, and he gives me a sideways glance. He lowers his cup onto the table and runs a hand through his hair. I've never really paid close attention to the physical appearance of the man in front of me, but the scars that litter his knuckles are suddenly the only things that I can look at. The slightly raised flesh, a shade or two lighter than the rest of his skin, serves as an indication of whatever life he used to lead.

"Not really," he smirks as he tosses my earlier words back at me. "Look, I'm not expecting to hear something that I haven't heard before. Hell, I'm not really expecting to hear anything that I haven't _done_ before."

Maybe I would respond if I had any idea how to. How can you tell your mother's boyfriend that the guy you've been secretly fucking for the better part of a year got his dick sucked by the captain of the cheerleading squad?

How can you explain that it feels it's your fault?

I twist the ends of my hair around one index finger and use the other to trace patterns into the condensation on the outside of my glass. My gaze flickers out the doorway, into the living room, and over to old, brown leather recliner that Peeta's still sleeping in. He's only got the throw covering one half of his body, and his shirt is all bunched up on the side that's exposed.

Usually the sight of any part of him being laid bare like that is enough to make me have to press my thighs together. Now, all I can of is the way that Delly probably had her perfectly manicured fingers on that skin last night. There's some truly masochistic part of me that wonders if the muscles in his stomach tightened underneath her touch the same way that they usually do under mine.

I think I'm going to be sick again.

"Last night have anything to do with blondie in there?"

Fuck.

The noise that comes from the back of my throat is far from resembling any sort of affirmation, but it seems like the old man in front of me has already caught on. Figuring that I have nothing to lose, I look back over to where Peeta lies as Haymitch continues. His hair has fallen over his right eye and my hand twitches as I think of all of the times I've pushed it back from his forehead while he's hovered over me.

"That's the Mellark boy, isn't it? Can't say that I envy him, having a mother like Moira. She's a real piece of work."

"She's a real piece of _something_," I mumble, and can see Haymitch's shoulders start to shake as he tries not to laugh. One corner of my mouth lifts up, but I still don't turn to face him.

"I had to stop him from sneaking into your room three times last night. _Three_. Even after he found out that the Undersee girl was in there with you," he pauses and shakes his head a little. "The boy finally gave up, but insisted that I at least leave a glass of water on your nightstand."

I let a choked sound pass over my lips and think of the puddle that's currently soaking through the rug beside my bed.

"He's so fucking stupid."

My voice is low, and I don't even realize that I've spoken until Haymitch clears his throat.

"Okay, here goes. I know that shit can get a little crazy when you're young. You should know that you can call me, or let me know if you ever need help, though. I won't tell your mom. I won't get your dumb ass in trouble."

I look over at him finally, and he just stares at me. The sour taste of sleep and remnants of vomit, in combination with his unnerving, fixed stare, makes me want to crawl into a hole somewhere. Or maybe just crawl back into bed with Madge and pull the covers over my head.

"If anyone knows what classifies a 'bad kid', it's me. And like I said, you're not a bad kid... and neither are any of them. Don't get me wrong, you're all stupid as shit, but still... Ah, fuck. I talk to drug addicts all day, but give me a 17 year-old girl and I turn into a goddamned afterschool special. You get what I'm-"

I put up my hand to stop him, but he just ignores me.

"Just go back to making smarter decisions when you guys are busy being dumb teenagers. No more of this walking down dark roads in the middle of the night stuff, okay?"

He's already pushed his chair back from the table and is standing up by the time I nod my head once. Picking his keys up from the counter, he indicates the clock hanging by the doorway with a raised finger.

I wait until I heard his car back out of the driveway before shoving my own chair away from the table. The sound of the footrest of the recliner clicking into place grabs my attention and I look up to see Peeta's hardly focused blue eyes locked at me. It takes about a half a second after his mouth opens for me to stride into the living room and announce (in a voice loud enough to probably even wake up poor Prim upstairs) that my mom will be home in the next half hour, and they all need to get the hell out of dodge.

I can hear the groans of protest, but don't look back as I take the stairs two at a time. Locking myself in the bathroom, I turn on the shower and idly wonder what exactly happened with Delly after I left last night. He obviously hadn't given her a ride home if they all showed up here so soon after Haymitch had dragged my ass through the door. It doesn't seem like a very Peeta thing to do; leaving a girl stranded all alone at a party. Then again, letting her suck his dick wasn't very Peeta-like, either.

Swallowing down the awful lump in my throat, I stare at my reflection in the mirror above the sink until the glass fogs over.

A couple of hours later, I find myself, for the first time since I've had this awful job, actually grateful to be at work. At least I'm grateful to have something that actually somewhat manages to take my mind off Peeta. Mid-shift on Saturdays is usually one of the busiest of the week, and today's doesn't disappoint. In fact, I don't even have to deal with the gaping hole in my chest until Gale comes to pick me offer me a ride home in his mom's obnoxiously teal Honda Accord.

Apparently, he's dropped Hazel off at work, and she just left him money and told him to grab dinner out somewhere. Since the pizza place is only about a mile away from Subway, he stopped in to see if I needed a ride home. I suspect that it has more to do with the free cookies that I always manage to acquire for him than anything else.

He puts the car in park outside the restaurant, and I grab a cigarette from the pack of Winston's his mom always keeps on top of the dash. I know that I'll regret it, I always do. These things taste like shit and leave you feeling like something's crawled into your mouth and died afterward, but they're free, and I know she won't even realize that one's missing. I light it and wait for Gale outside, sitting on the edge of the sidewalk with my legs stretched out in front of me.

He joins me a minute later, after a detour to grab a cigarette of his own. He plucks mine from my mouth as he lowers his body down next to me and bitches a light from it. I'm already regretting lighting this thing as the less than stellar aroma fills the air.

"They said it'll be a few more minutes," Gale offers, jerking his head back toward the building behind us.

I nod, but don't say anything. It's been overcast all day, and I'm trying to enjoy the slightly cooler temperatures for as long as they'll last. Maybe when I get home, I'll actually see if Prim wants to take a walk, or something. Or, at least, that's what I'm thinking until Gale brings up the one subject that I'm desperately trying to avoid.

"I don't know what happened last night, but... just so you know; Peeta's the one that started the search party."

I scoff and shake my head a little.

"Yeah... Well, you're right. You _don't_ know what happened last night."

He doesn't look at me as he takes another drag. The space between his eyebrows creases a little, almost as if he's struggling with whether or not he should continue. Finally, his face relaxes and he goes on.

"I do know that he shoved Delly Cartwright into the first car that he saw leaving the party." He pauses and gives a small grin. "I'm sure that she just loved being stuck in a crowded backseat with Beetee and a bunch of science nerds."

All I want to do is come back with the fact that she probably loved having Peeta's dick in her mouth before that. I can't, though. I can't admit out loud, even to Gale, that I've fucked this thing between Peeta and I up so badly that he's already turned to someone else.

The fact that I can't even readily admit failure in a relationship that no one even knows existed says a lot more about me than I'd like. I didn't even realize until now just how big of a part my pride has played into this situation... or how much I apparently think of myself. Or how big of a narcissist I really am.

"Whatever happened, Catnip, I have to be honest - I don't really blame him. I mean, after Cato went around, bragging about how you were going to meet up with him after their set..."

Somehow, I'm able to resist my immediate urge to slap the shit out of Gale Hawthorne.

"And you actually thought that I would? _He_ actually thought that I would?"

The look on his face is pointed, and I squint my eyes at him. He rolls his in return and kicks the side of my shoe, bringing the toe of his boot up until it catches on the bottom of my pants leg. The scar that I got from stumbling backward into the fire at Celia Conner's party last Halloween is clear to see. I remember how angry I was that night, and watch as Gale nods to the discolored patch of flesh.

"You do stupid shit when you're pissed, Catnip."

I don't respond, his words ringing just a bit too true in my ears.

Prim's not even home when Gale drops me off about twenty minutes later, and I spend the rest of the day holed up in my bed with the throw from the living room recliner wrapped around me. Around seven, my phone rings from its spot on my desk and the chorus of 'No One Knows' sounds out over the otherwise quiet room and I can't bring myself to move. Peeta calls at least four more times, and I hear the text notification more times than I can count, but each one goes unanswered.

I realize that with only a month of school left, and final exams coming up, that skipping probably isn't the best course of action.

I also understand that skipping Econ _again_ probably isn't the brightest idea I've ever had. I know that I can't face him, though, not yet, and end up crawling into the backseat of Marvel's car just like last week. The dreary, cloudy weather from the weekend has carried over into today and, after tucking my bag underneath my head to use as a pillow, my eyes are just closing as I hear the rain start to beat down heavily on the roof.

Of course, this causes me to feel, more than hear, the door by my feet as it's being jerked open.

I yank my legs farther inside the car as soon as I feel them being pelted with the fat drops of rain, and open my eyes just in time to see Peeta shaking out his hair as he shuts the door behind him. Sliding my back up the inside of the door, I pull my legs in as close to my body as possible. Even though my first instinct is to leave, or at least tell him to, I find myself unable to do either of those things. I'll have to settle on creating whatever amount of space between us that I can.

I wipe some of the water that he's just flung from his hair off my arm and catch his eyes briefly before looking away. Looking anywhere but at him. It's a lot harder than it sounds... effectively trapped by the rain that's now coming down in sheets in this suddenly too small, too muggy backseat.

"Katniss, just... Look at me, please."

His voice is low and shakes just the tiniest bit on the last word. This is all it takes for the telltale prick of tears to start behind my eyes. I take a deep breath, and my throat tries to close in on itself halfway through. For someone who prides herself on not being an emotional basketcase, I'm really fucking failing at it right now.

_God damn it._

"I don't know if I can," I manage to say, though it sounds more like a croak. My eyes remain glued to my knees.

"I'm so sorry. I... I know that I shouldn't have said what I did the other day, and I-"

"I don't even care about what you said anymore, Peeta!" I practically cry as I cut him off. "God knows that if there's one thing I'm good at, it's saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. I get that.. ... I understand it. And yeah, it fucking hurt, but now? Now I can't even look at you without picturing the two of you together. Without seeing you with_ her_."

Even with someone that I'm as comfortable around as Peeta, I'm not used to having so many words just flow out of me. His open mouth lets me know that he's not used to it, either.

"You know that we didn't... She didn't... I mean, she tried..." he trails off and I look over as he pulls his hand roughly through his hair. "Jesus Christ, she got my zipper half-way down and threw up in the washing machine... And you, you know what it's like when I'm rolling."

"Is that how it's always going to be? When we get mad at each other, you'll just go get fucked up and use it as an excuse to fuck someone else?"

"First of all, I didn't fuck her. And I have_ never _been so glad to see someone vomit in my life. Second, _NO_. God... No. If you would actually tell me what you want, or let me at least tell the world how much I love you... If I could actually put a name on what we are, and not get scared that you'll never want to see me again, or not want to have anything to do with me after we fight..." He takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair again. I watch as his fingers curl into a fist and he rubs it along the ridge of his brow. "Every time we fight I'm so fucking scared that that's it for us. The other day, when you told me to leave... I assumed you were through. It sounded like you were through. And I was hurt, and I was stupid."

"For someone as good with people as you usually are, you sure do a shit ton of assuming, Peeta," I spit out. I stare at his face and, after a few seconds, the corners of his mouth start threatening to twitch upward. It's quiet for another moment, and it finally starts to get to me. "And why are you fucking smiling?"

"Because a minute ago, you said _always_."

I have no idea what he's talking about.

"What?"

He slides his body closer to mine, his knee resting over the top of my shoes.

"You said 'Is that how it's _always _going to be'. You said always."

His fingers are cool, still drying from the rain, as they slide around my ankle. I swallow hard.

"Yeah, well in you've forgotten, I've been saying that for a long time."

His lips are on mine as soon as the sentence ends, and I can feel the way that their corners are pulled up into a smile. There's no way that I can deny the feeling of warmth that rushes through me, but I pull back anyway.

I don't even look him in the eye. I'd rather avoid the look of hurt or confusion that I know I'll find there. Instead, I trace my fingertips over the line of his jaw, down to the swell of his bottom lip. I can't stop thinking about the sheen of her lipgloss across the skin in front of me. He traps my hand underneath his and it surprises me when I realize that he's shaking just slightly. Then again, my exhale is also pretty shaky right before I start to speak.

"Did you kiss her?"

I don't want to know, but I_ need _to. Even though the answer is clear... Surely even a girl like Delly Cartwright wouldn't go down on a guy until he'd at least kissed her.

The slight hesitation is all it takes. His mouth falls open, but no words come out, and it really is all the affirmation I need.

There's a part of me that's disgusted. It's the same part that wants to shove him as far away as I possibly can and curl even farther into myself as I succumb to the ache in my chest and behind my eyes. That's not the part that responds, however. No, it's the part that wants to erase any trace of that stupid bitch from his mind and body. It's the part that wants to reclaim him as my own.

As mine, and only mine.

My hand still on his face, I pull his mouth back to mine. It's a frenzy of movements that follows. My knees are pressed even tighter against my chest until, suddenly, they're not. I'm not even aware of his hands separating them until my legs are wound tightly around his waist and our torsos are as close as we can possibly make them.

My fingers dig into the skin of his jaw and, too far gone to care if it hurts, or if I'm being too rough, I push his chin back so that the expanse of his throat is available to me. My lips find the skin there, followed by my tongue and teeth. If I can't get the memory of the remnants of her lipgloss on his skin out of my mind, I'm going to make damn sure that I get it out of his. The way that his fingers tighten, one hand on my hip and the other high on my ribcage, just underneath my breast, lets me know that I'm succeeding.

I plant a trail of kisses up the line of his jaw until finally taking his earlobe in between my teeth and nipping it lightly. The sound that he makes in response travels straight to my core and I rock my hips even tighter against his. He's just as hard as I am wet and, _holy shit_, we're usually so quick to skip past this part that I always forget how good this feels.

His fingers dip underneath the waistband of my pants just as I pull his bottom lip between my teeth, and I remember where we are. With one hand, I'm able to fumble around on the floorboard to grab the strap of Peeta's bag. Without ever losing momentum with either my hips or my tongue, I manage to fish out his keys. When I separate my mouth from his, my breathing is ragged, and my voice is low.

"I'm not going to fuck you in the backseat of Marvel's car, Peeta."

He doesn't waste any time pulling me out into the rain and across the parking lot.

By the time that I've climbed over the console and into the broken, passenger side seat of his Jeep and pulled him on top of me only a moment later, we're both drenched. The rain's not letting up, and the outline of the large, brick building that we should be in is barely visible through its sheets. It's not as hot now that our clothes are soaked and, with his weight pressing down on top of me, things are better than they've felt in a while.

His hands fist into the wet hair at the nape of my neck and I let out a soft moan as I lift my hips in response. As good as it all feels, and _fuck_ does it feel good, I don't want him to be the one in control right now. No,_ I _need to be the one that erases every trace that someone else was ever this close to him.

I recline the seat and wait until his lips are starting to travel down my neck before I push him just far enough away to let him know that I want to change things up. Our verbal communication skills may be lacking, but when it comes to sex, Peeta and I don't even need words.

He pushes the seat back as far as it will go, and I grin to myself at the way it rolls freely on the track and he has to hold it in place with his arms. He tenses his legs and lifts his body from mine, giving me just enough room to slide out from underneath him.

I watch as he settles into the seat, letting my hands travel over the worn denim covering his legs. My fingers trace the overtly apparent bulge and head straight for his zipper. The carpet of the floormat is stiff underneath me and the bits of dirt and debris that dig into my knees are biting, but I don't care.

Once his pants and boxers have been pushed down, I scratch my nails along the crease where his torso meets his legs. The muscles in his stomach tighten, and I lean up to nip at one of his hipbones with a hint of a smile on my lips. When I finally close my hand around the base of him, flattening my tongue along the underside and bringing it up to swirl around the head of his cock, my name comes out of his mouth in a sigh. After a moment, his fingers are buried in my hair, pulling and pushing along with the rhythm I've established.

This is normally the moment where a growl comes from the back of my throat, and I push his hands away, stubbornly annoyed with his 'assistance'. This time, though, the growl that escapes me has nothing to do with annoyance, and everything to do with the need I feel to continue to mark him as my own. It seems to have a pretty immediate reaction on him, and I have to use my forearms to push his legs and hips back into the seat beneath him.

A second later, he's pulling me away from him, and I can't hide the confused look that I'm sure occupies my face. He's trying to catch his breath, and when he doesn't speak, I lean forward again. My eyes stay locked with his as my tongue snakes out from between my lips and just barely brushes over the slit on his head.

The immediacy of how he lifts me from my knees and deposits my body on top of his own shocks me. After placing a scorching hot kiss on my still slightly agape mouth, he pulls the tip of my tongue between his lips. The gentle pressure of him sucking on it sends what feels like a jolt of electricity all the way to where my crotch is pressed against him. It can't be very comfortable for him, my shorts against his bare skin, but he doesn't complain. Peeta never complains.

He has one of his hands resting on my ass, and I feel like my skin is going to melt away as he slowly slides it lower. Once his fingers are pressed against me, using the stiff seam of the denim for added friction, he pulls his mouth away. At this point, it's hard for to keep my eyes open, and when I do, the look on his face is so intense that I have to block it out again. My eyes are still closed when he suddenly flips me over so that my back is against his front. His words come out in a whisper, and his hands are already undoing the fly of my shorts when he speaks.

"I want to be inside of you when I come."

A shiver runs down my spine as he pushes my shorts and underwear down just far enough for what needs to be done, and I grind my ass against his erection. In one swift movement, he's inside me, and his face is pressed into my hair. His lips find my earlobe and the way that his teeth start to worry at the soft flesh almost causes me to miss him reaching up to flip down the sun visor above us.

It's now clear to me why Peeta always gets off on watching me touch myself. The image of him sliding in and out of me, his pale hand splayed across the lower expanse of my olive-skinned stomach, is the sexiest fucking thing that I've ever seen.

It's only a few moments later that my legs feel like they're going to give way and my fingers dig deep into the flesh of his thigh. He takes the hand that's not holding my torso and when his index finger starts to rub my clit in slow circles, I fall apart completely. I come with such force that when he follows me not thirty seconds later, I can only feel relieved. There is no way that my jellied limbs would have been able to last much longer.

I rest all of my weight on top of his body and sigh a little as he places a tender kiss to my temple. The rain still shows no sign of letting up any time soon and provides the perfect soundtrack as we lay here, sweaty and tangled up in one another. He pushes my hair off of my neck and I can feel his warm breath as it falls in still ragged exhales on my skin.

I reach for the black Sharpie that's nestled in one of the center console's cup holders, and uncap it with my teeth. I'm grateful for our positioning, mostly because I know he can't see my face and the complete self-doubt that I suddenly feel. Still, I soldier on, lifting his arm from its spot around my waist. Once the underside of his wrist is exposed to me, I drag the marker along his skin. The fluid, if slightly crooked, figure eight that appears will take days to fade without some serious scrubbing, and I can't help but hope that he lets it run its own course instead.

"Gale knows about us," I say without thinking. I guess I just want him to know that it's not just_ our _secret anymore. He should be happy. There's a beat of silence, and then he responds.

"Is there even an us anymore, Katniss?"

He doesn't sound broken... Not like before, but something about this question manages to break something inside of me. My words come out in a rush and my fingers grip his wrist tightly.

"I don't want anybody else."

He shakes his arm a little, effectively loosening my grip from his wrist, and laces his fingers with mine.

"Neither do I."


	6. Chapter 6

Gale hisses as his bare back comes in contact with the door of the old El Camino that's been sitting in the Hawthorne's yard since he bought it well over a year ago. I can't help but laugh at the way he practically bounces off the hot metal. He's quick to place a half-hearted slap on my forearm with the back of his hand, and I raise an eyebrow.

"What? You should've known that it would be hot, dummy."

He replies, but my attention is already back on the game of two on two that's going on in his driveway right now. The pavement is cracked and bumpy, with whole chunks missing in spots, and the net of the goal has been missing for years, but no one seems to mind. Marvel and Finnick have put up a good fight so far, but it's becoming painfully obvious that they're no match for Peeta and Thresh. Needless to say, I've spent the last twenty minutes, legs stretched out in front of me in the bed of this car-truck monstrosity that serves as nothing more than a glorified lawn chair at the moment, trying not to be obvious about the way that a shirtless and sweaty Peeta affects me.

Let's just say that it's a good thing that Gale already knows and that the others are focused on the game, because I'm doing a pretty horrible job.

Every time that we've fought, the period that's followed has always been filled with an air of tenderness that doesn't normally make its way into our relationship. And those were all just little fights - things that could barely be classified as such. So that means that the last few days have been achingly sweet and as close to blissful as they've ever been.

I'm so busy watching the muscles in Peeta's arms and back as he goes for a lay-up that I almost miss whatever it is that Gale's saying beside me. Truthfully, I'm tempted to pretend that I didn't hear him at all, just so I don't have to tear my eyes away. There's something about the way that the sweat rolls down the length of Peeta's spine that makes me have to shift in my seat a little.

Gale nudges my side with his elbow and I reluctantly look over at him.

"What?"

The word comes out a little harsher than I mean for it to, but my tone only causes Gale to shake his head and let out a short laugh. I narrow my eyes, and he just rolls his in return.

"I _asked_ why you didn't – don't - want anyone to know about you two." He waves his hand out in front of him, motioning toward the driveway. "I mean... I get that you want your privacy, or whatever, but you can't deny that all this shit with Delly could've been avoided."

If there's anyone, other than Peeta, that I'm going to have this conversation with... Hell, if there's anyone other than Peeta that I'm going to have any kind of serious conversation with, it's Gale. I just don't feel up to it at the moment. Mostly because I don't even want to think about Delly Cartwright right now. Even though I know that brushing off the topic with my usual snark isn't going to work with him, I try it anyway.

"You're just pissed because I'm the one that ended up sleeping pressed up against Madge the other night."

He keeps his eyes on the game in front of us, but one side of his mouth lifts up. For a second, I think that the mental image of two chicks in the same bed will be enough to derail him.

"As much as I'd like to sit here, with the picture of you and Madge all wrapped around each other in your bed, you know that I'm not going to let you off that easy."

_Shit._

"What if I told you that she was pretty much naked?"

I think back to the text message I'd gotten from Madge while I was still at work on Sunday, bitching at me about the water-logged skirt she'd found on my bedroom floor. She'd ended up wearing a pair of my favorite shorts home. I haven't seen the fuckers since.

I can see Gale biting the inside of his lip, but he manages to shake himself out of it after a few seconds.

"Nice try. Seriously, though... Why didn't you guys at least tell us?"

He sounds almost hurt, and I feel myself starting to get pissed off. It seems like no matter what I do lately, someone's mad at me, and the last thing I need is Gale to pull the _don't-you-trust-us_ card. My braid almost slaps me in the face with how quickly I turn my head to look at him.

"Why didn't I tell you? How about because his mom is the equivalent of an evil witch from a children's story and hates me? Or the threat she has hanging over my head about calling DFACS on my mom if she ever sees me with her son again?"

I try to take a deep breath because, even though I can always manage to rationalize my outbursts in my own head, I know that my sudden anger is unprovoked, and not really being directed at its rightful source. Gale places a hand on my wrist and I pull myself out of my thoughts. Peeta's eyes are on us now; I can feel them before I even look over to check. His eyebrows are knitted together in concern, and he manages to ask if I'm okay without having to say a word. I nod, finding it just a little easier to breathe.

"Wait... She did _what_?"

I look over to Gale and see that his hands have formed tight fists at his sides and his grey eyes are hard. He nods his head just slightly, urging me to go on. I don't exactly want to talk about it, but know he's not going to let this go, either.

"Jesus. She did exactly what I just said, Gale."

"So she knows that...?"

I shrug, suddenly embarrassed that Mrs. Mellark knows more about my sex life than even my closest friends.

"She also knows that my mom works most nights and leaves Prim and me by ourselves..." My words trail off and I let my hatred for Peeta's mother gather in the pit of my stomach. I push it down until I'm fairly certain that I can continue to speak with a somewhat clear head, and then go on. "And everyone knows that she hates my mother. I can't just ignore her threats, Gale. Not when I have Prim to think about. Look, I... I know that I can trust you not to say anything. You've got Rory and Vick and Posy to worry about. You understand. And I know that the others wouldn't say anything, not on purpose, anyway. I just can't afford for someone like Delly, or whoever, to overhear and start running their fucking mouth, though."

As if on cue, Posy comes hauling ass out of the backdoor, her chubby baby legs carrying her across the lawn as Prim and Vick chase after her. I smile at the squeals that the little girl gives as I watch Prim pick her up underneath her arms and swing her into the air. Vick reaches up to tickle his little sister, and Rory comes from the door, a smile on his face as he watches my sister from a distance. He moves to join them as Prim places Posy down on the swing set that I helped Gale put together last year.

I glance over at the oldest of the Hawthorne brood beside me, and he's watching the group with the same fond smile that I am. I kick the side of his boot, and he looks over at me.

"I guess I can understand that."

The game in the driveway has broken up and I look over just in time to see Peeta turn down joining in on a round of HORSE. The others don't seem too bothered by it, and immediately line up near a long, jagged crack that they always use as the free throw line to determine who's going to shoot first. He makes his way to where Gale and I sit, bumping my shoe with his hip as he leans against the tailgate that's been let down.

"I'm going to grab something to drink," he says, his eyes flickering over to land on mine for just a second. "You guys want anything?"

Gale shakes his head, "Nah. I'm good."

I'd answer with words, but the way that the sun's hitting his shoulders makes it fucking impossible for me to think straight. The way that the muscles there roll with the movement of his body is something that I don't think I'll ever get tired of admiring. The fact that he says the same thing about my tits pops into my head, and I have to try not to snort. I settle on shaking my head and watch as he makes his way toward the back door.

His eyes find mine over his shoulder and I bite down on my bottom lip a lot harder than I intend to. I'm still wincing when Gale stands up to go join the others in the driveway. He shakes his head as he looks back at me, and nods toward the house.

"Catnip, just go."

I swallow my immediate retort for him to lower his fucking voice when I note the way that no one else is even paying him a second thought. Prim and Rory are pretty caught up in keeping the two younger Hawthornes occupied, and the guys won't be leaving their spot in the driveway for quite some time. I glance back at the backdoor, its screen coming loose at one corner, and almost feel fucking giddy at the prospect of having Peeta to myself with everyone else so nearby.

The amount of time (or lack thereof) that it takes for my feet to hit the ground is pretty impressive.

"For the love of God, though, just remember that I eat on that kitchen table," Gale says low enough for only my ears to pick up.

I roll my eyes, but can't stop the grin that spreads across my face as I make my way inside.

Shutting the door behind me, I step into the laundry room on my way into the kitchen. I've barely made it through the threshold that leads into the next room before I'm being pressed against the side of the refrigerator, Peeta's hips pinning my torso tightly. I let out a gasp that he manages to stifle with a kiss, and arch my back in order to bring my body flush against his.

He pulls his lips away and smiles down at me. That crooked grin and the taste of spearmint lingering on my tongue are almost enough to send me over the edge. It's really his fingers looping around my wrists and holding them firmly to the cool surface of the fridge behind me that makes my stomach clench, though. He bites his bottom lip and dips his head back down, this time trailing kisses along the line of my jaw as he thrusts his lower body into mine.

It's hard to keep my eyes from rolling back into my head as his lips slip lower and lower, but the way that the light from the window over the sink is shining into the otherwise dim room makes it easier. Through the fringe of my lashes, I get caught up in how his sweat-dampened curls stick to the side of his neck, and don't even realize that I've managed to wrench my wrists out of his grip until the fingers of one hand are buried deep in his blond locks.

He places a hand on the small of my back and the way that his fingertips burn through my t-shirt as they wrap around my side makes me writhe against him. The noise that comes from the back of his throat makes me grin, and when he bites down on my bottom lip, he's hardly playing fair. Of course, judging by how hard he is against my stomach right now, he's probably thinking the same thing about the way that my hips have yet to stop moving.

I reach down to cup him through his pants, and he practically hisses at the contact. I pull my face away from his and raise an eyebrow. He's usually better at... Well, keeping himself under control than he seems to be right now. Nevertheless, I don't remove my hand, and watch his eyes darken while I rub my palm over the worn denim.

"What?" He asks, his voice raspy. He pauses to lean back with one arm and bring the glass he's filled with water to his lips. I watch the way that his Adam's apple bobs up and down as he swallows, and lean up to place a kiss to the side of his throat. He basically growls as he continues to speak. "I haven't been able to kiss you all fucking day... It makes it hard-"

"Obviously," I interject with a grin that can only be described as 'shit-eating'. He rolls his eyes, but even that comes off as being sexy right now. Maybe if I wasn't eye-level with his goddamned collar bone...

"Oh, shut up. You know what I meant..."

Pulling my hand from between our bodies, I place it on his jaw, gripping just tight enough to make sure that I have his attention.

"So kiss me."

And, God damn it, he does.

His tongue drags across the line of my lower lip and I open them to grant him access. His mouth is cool from the water and I take delight in the way that I can feel it growing warmer as it moves against my own. If he had on a shirt, this is where I'd be gripping it tightly. My nails are barely starting to dig their way down his back when he grabs my arms and forces them behind me.

I know that he would wear whatever evidence I left on him with pride, but he understands the (normal) hesitance I have to leaving it. He nips at my mouth and the idea he can even think of the telltale marks I was about to leave on his body makes me want to devour him whole.

Or I would, at least, if it didn't feel as if he's trying to the exact same thing to me.

After another minute, he pulls away and pushes the hair back from my temple, placing a soft kiss there.

"I'm going to tell Delly I'm not taking her to prom."

I freeze.

"No, Peeta. You're not."

I feel the muscles in his shoulders tense. He lowers his hand from its spot on the back of my neck, and I know without having to look that his fingers are flexing at his side, trying their best to avoid balling into a fist.

Neither of us has brought up Delly, or the issue of prom, since our reconciliation in his Jeep the other day. I can tell by the way his breathing has sped up just slightly that he's not happy with my response to what he has to say about it.

"Katniss, why-"

"Do I need to remind you of how that gigantic fucking bruise on your cheek has only _just_ faded, Peeta? The last thing you need is another thing to set your mom off."

He doesn't argue with me, but his hand has made its way into a fist and he won't look me in the eye. And, damn it, I don't want him to fall into this shitty mood. Things have been too calm and too perfect these last couple of days and, even if what I've said has managed to piss him off, I'm too selfish to allow him the right to get mad me and ruin it all.

I lean up and place a trail of kisses along the shell of his ear and push one of my legs between his. He groans; the sound low and guttural. As I whisper in his ear, taking advantage of the effect that I know I have on him, I can't help but think to myself that I really am a terrible person.

"You're going to go to prom with that bitch. You'll make your witch of a mother happy," I pause, punctuating my words with gentles scrapes of my teeth. "And then you're going to leave early, head over to my place, and make me come so hard that I see stars."

His hand unclenches and is making its way up my shirt when the backdoor swings into the wall on the outside of the house. He jerks his hands away from me, and I duck underneath his arm just in time for Finnick, Thresh, and Marvel to come striding into the kitchen. Gale follows a few feet behind, a frantic, apologetic look in his eyes.

"God, Peeta! Gross!"

I shove him away, and watch as he falls easily into the chair beside the kitchen table, quickly sliding its legs across the floor, the massive boner he's now sporting concealed by the table's surface. Pretending to wipe sweat off the side of my face and arm, I fling my hand in his direction. He laughs when only the tips of my fingers slap across his bicep and he lifts his shoulder in a lopsided shrug.

"Now, Katniss," Finnick starts, stepping forward and backing me against the fridge once again. "It's only a little sweat."

I catch Peeta's eyes over Finn's shoulder and watch as the corner of his mouth lifts up.

_Mother fucker._

Saturday morning finds me sitting on the front steps, waiting on someone (meaning Marvel or Finn) to pick me up. Haymitch had joked about me being up so early on a day where it wasn't needed for school, but I just ignored him and had taken my still half-asleep ass out to the porch.

He's been around more this week. It's hard not to notice the extra coffee mug in the dish drainer each morning when I'm making Prim's breakfast, or the newspaper spread out over the barely used kitchen table. And it's damn near impossible to miss the way that he watches me like a hawk every time I pass through the living room.

Prim loves having him around. Although I guess it's not really all that difficult to please someone who seems to love everything and everyone to begin with. And, shit, if it makes her happy and keeps her from having to spend as much time home alone while I'm working, then it's okay with me.

Even if he had actually uttered the words _'Make good decisions, sweetheart' _after I'd told him my plans for the day.

The Broad River Outpost is only about a twenty minute drive from here, and really one of the only things to do in this town that doesn't involve booze or weed. Knowing Gale and Marvel, though, I'm sure both will still be involved. It's easy enough to pack a bowl while floating down river in a kayak, after all. The current never gets too strong on the route we take, and they're all experts by this point. At both kayaking and illegal activities.

The Outpost just opened for the season two weeks ago and Annie had told Finn she'd be able to get us in for free if we waited a couple of weekends for the crowds to die down. Of course, I'd had to promise Thom that I would take his shift next Saturday so that he'd be free on prom night. Not that it's a big deal, of course. I (obviously) don't plan to go, and it's not like we'll be busy since most of the town will be occupied.

Regardless, I'm looking forward to spending the day on the water, watching the tip of Peeta's nose turn pink from the sun. Marvel, honking his horn, brings me out of my reverie, but even after I'm buckled safely into the backseat, I can't stop thinking that if I'm lucky, the freckles that usually pop up along the expanse of Peeta's shoulders will manage to make an appearance as well. I remember seeing them the second, maybe third, time that we were together and the urge I'd had to play connect-the-dots with my tongue as he'd moved above me was almost overwhelming.

I can hear the screaming before Marvel even has the car in park outside of Peeta's house, though and freckles are suddenly the last thing on my mind. The car rolls to a stop in the driveway and I have my door open and feet swung out onto the asphalt as Finn's car pulls up along the curb. It's still early, but Mr. Mellark's car is gone, leaving only Peeta's Jeep and the silver, Mercedes SUV that belongs to his mother out front.

"What the hell..." Marvel mutters as he cranes his neck over the steering wheel to peer up at the two story, white Colonial.

I can't make out any words, but the screams aren't fucking slowing down. There's a huge crash from somewhere inside, and Gale locks eyes with me over his headrest. My shoes are pounding their way across the lawn within half a second. Car doors slam shut behind me, and I stop just before I reach the bottom step leading up to the front porch to turn around.

"What the fuck?" Finnick looks confused as he jumps over the flowers lining the sidewalk. Thresh isn't far behind him.

My chest is heaving and I really am at a loss for what to say. I know that as soon as I open this door, a whole world that Peeta's tried so hard to pretend doesn't exist... that he's tried so hard to hide from everyone, will be revealed - exposed and on display. My mouth falls open, but no words come out, and I close it again.

Glass shatters somewhere in the house behind me, and I cringe at the sound. I can picture that awful bruise across his cheek from last week and my throat threatens to close in on itself. My hands start to shake, and I can tell the second that Madge spots the trembling. She's managed to take one step forward before I find my voice and tell her to stop.

I'm frozen for another second before something hits the other side of the front door with a thud. It's too small to be a person, but it sounds heavy and does nothing to calm my nerves.

"Just... Fuckin' stay outside, okay?"

My voice is hoarse and breaks on the last word and, Jesus Christ, I don't even sound like myself.

There's about a twenty second bout of silence when I close the door behind me. The foyer is dark, mostly because the entryway table, along with the gaudy, crystal and gold-trimmed lamp that usually sits on it, has been knocked onto its side. The normal knick knacks and pieces of mail that usually litter the table's surface are scattered all over the floor. The heel of my shoe glides across the glossy cover of an issue of Better Homes and Gardens, and I have to grab onto the wall to keep my balance.

I could give a shit about a broken lamp, though. Or about falling on my ass.

It's hard to think of anything except for the thick, leather bound book in Moira Mellark's hand and the dark, ever-growing red mark that's covering almost an entire side of Peeta's face. She's hit him with the spine, who knows how many times, and there's no doubt in my mind that there's going to be one hell of bruise there later.

Her eyes are wide with shock at having been caught in this situation, but it doesn't take long for them to narrow. I watch as the corner of her lip turns up in almost a snarl. When I glance over at him again the look on Peeta's face causes my jaw to go slack with the shaky exhale that I let out.

He has his head turned away from me now, facing the stairs, with his eyes firmly locked on the bottom step. The rise and fall of his chest makes it apparent that he's trying (without much success) to get his breathing under control, and I note the way that his fists aren't clenched in anger like I would expect. No, his fingers are slack, and his palms are facing outward... in a sign of what looks goddamned resignation. Like he's accepted that this is the way it is when it comes to this piece of shit that calls herself a mother.

When I see the ugly, near bloody scratches all down his forearm and the way that her fingers are still digging into the smooth, pale skin of the inside of his wrist, I fucking lose it.

It takes less than two strides for me to move to where they're standing. Peeta still won't look anywhere but at the damned floor, and just clenches and unclenches his jaw instead of speaking up... instead of saying fucking _anything_. Mrs. Mellark is looking at me like she wants to roll her eyes - like she wants to ask me exactly what I'm going to do about this. Her face is contorted in pain a split second later and it takes me a moment to realize it's because I've wrenched her arm from Peeta's so forcefully that even my shoulder is protesting a little at the harsh movement.

My nails are nearly piercing her skin and I let go, shoving her arm as far away from me as possible. As far away from _Peeta_ as possible.

I lace my fingers with his and can just barely pick up the slight tremor that's running through his hand. As I pull him to me, and then position myself in between his body and his mother, he blinks twice. His eyes clear just the smallest bit with the second blink, and he sputters out my name, but nothing else.

"I thought that I told you that I never wanted to see this trash in my house again. Isn't that what I said, Peeta?"

He stays quiet behind me, and she takes a step forward. I feel Peeta's fingers tighten around my own and my heart sinks into my stomach. What the hell has this woman done to him?

"Well? Are you going to answer me? Or are you just going to stand there behind the little slut and continue to be worthless?"

If I could form a coherent thought, I would gladly spew venom at this bitch, but my voice is caught in my throat and all I want to do is get Peeta out of here. Well, that, and maybe give his mother a taste of her own medicine, but even a hot-head like me knows that's a bad idea. She'd have Deputy Cray out here in no time, and I know for certain that Madge wouldn't be willing to get any of us out of trouble the way that she did before.

I trip over the same magazine I slipped on when I walked in, and I'm surprised when Peeta's hand darts out to grab at my waist. Even in the near catatonic state that he seems to be in, he's still looking out for me. My free hand is fumbling for the doorknob when Mrs. Mellark lets out a sort of choked scoff. Her gaze is obviously resting on her son's hand and where it's positioned on my body.

"Oh, son," she lets out a short laugh that makes my blood start to boil. I yank the front door open, but she continues her tirade regardless of the audience on her front lawn. "Still? Well, I guess I should be grateful that I haven't been made a grandmother yet. Of course, don't think for a second that any spawn created with this piece of white trash will ever be acknowledged in this house! You're such an ungrateful little shit, you know that? Such a fucking disappointment. I try, and I try to help you, but you just throw it back in my face by spending time with... By traipsing around town with _her_ daughter!"

I thank God for Madge with her uncanny ability to read my moods and know exactly what I need. I hear her voice behind me, soft, but no nonsense, as she tells everyone to get back to the cars. I feel her hand lock around my forearm as she starts to pull Peeta and me with her.

Mrs. Mellark is still yelling as we get closer to the car. She's moved out to the front porch, her hand gripping the railing tight enough for her knuckles to turn white. I can't decide if she's so angry because Peeta's not even bothering to respond to her and whatever happened before we showed up, or if it's because it's me that he's running off with. Not that he's doing much running at the moment - more like being dragged across his front lawn, really.

I definitely haven't made this situation any better, though. She's sure to tear into him even more later on, but right now I can only focus on putting as much space between the two of them as possible. Maybe it'll help the undeniable pile of awful fucking guilt that I feel building up in my stomach.

Madge lets go of my hand to pull Peeta into the backseat behind her. Even though there's plenty of room, after slamming the door shut behind me, I take one look at Peeta's face - still so fucking vacant and refusing to meet my eyes - and climb on top of him. I settle my legs on either side of his hips and the seatbelt buckle digs into my left knee. It hurts like a bitch, but I ignore the pain as I turn my head to hiss at Marvel to _just drive, god damn it._

My hands are shaking when I turn back around, and I can feel the slight tremble from earlier still running through Peeta's from where they're placed on my thighs. Somewhere in the back of my mind, there's a voice, telling me that the others are watching, and I shouldn't be so stupid. But then there's a much stronger voice. One that tells the other to shut the hell up and just take care of the boy in front of me, no matter who fucking sees. For once, I listen to what that one has to tell me.

I don't say anything - just rest my forehead against his and silently urge him to at least look at me. His eyes close as my fingers lightly trail over his inflamed cheek, a deep red now, bordering on almost purple against the rest of his pale skin. After a few seconds, I lock my fingers together behind his neck and angle my head just enough to place my lips to his injury.

The feeling of his eyelashes fluttering against my skin is almost instant and I pull back just enough to see that he's staring up at me. His grip tightens on my legs as he opens his mouth, but no words come out. Instead, he inhales and the breath catches on something that looks like it could be a sob, but I won't let that happen for him. God knows that what everyone else just witnessed has to have been embarrassing enough.

So I kiss him again. First on the same spot as before, careful with the amount of pressure I apply. Then I kiss his forehead, my hair falling down on each side to form a curtain, a barrier, between us and everyone else in the car. (Hell, I don't even know who managed to make it back inside which vehicle at this point.) His forehead is followed by his eyelids, his nose, his chin - Each press of my lips against his skin an affirmation that I'm here with him. That he's okay.

He stiffens in shock, for just a second, when my mouth finds his and I follow it up with the actual words.

"You're okay," I whisper, leaning forward so that our noses touch. It causes me to go cross-eyed for a second, and I'm sure that it makes me look like a Cyclops to him, but at the moment, I can't bear to be any farther away.

The car comes to a stop a few minutes later, and I listen as, one by one, doors open and close. I wait a moment, and then turn to see where we are. It's not the Outpost, but a sandy, beachy area a little farther down river. It's a spot that we frequent more during the later months of summer, taking turns jumping off the old rope swing into the water. Finn's already waded halfway out into the river, and the others are following suit, making a point of not lingering around the car.

It's uncomfortable, but when my shoulders hit the back of the front seat, I don't complain. He slumps forward, his head resting against my chest, and arms tightening around my waist. I feel the fabric of my tank top start to cling to me from the moisture that's now flowing freely down his cheeks, and thread my fingers into his hair.

I tell him that it's okay again - that I've got him now. And that I'm not going to let go.


	7. Chapter 7

"Oh my God! Peeta, your face! What happened?!"

The headache that's been plaguing me all day spikes, and I can practically feel my eye getting ready to twitch. Not due to the excessive use of the exclamation points that Delly seems to be oh so dedicated to using, but because I've been looking for and texting Peeta all day with absolutely no luck. Of course when he actually does decide to show, it's after school, when I have to almost immediately leave for work.

Okay, so her voice and the fact that she still manages to occupy even the slightest bit of his time might have a_ little _to do with it, as well.

"You didn't get into a fight your brother again, did you?" Her voice is lowered to a hushed whisper and, as ridiculous as it sounds, I can barely stand the fact that she even thinks that the two of them share some sort of secret.

I can almost hear the shrug in his voice as he replies.

"Yeah, something like that."

I drop my bag on the ground beside me, and start to look around for his Jeep when I hear the jingling of keys being thrown. Finnick snatches them from the air, and tucks them into his back pocket without a word while Peeta nods his 'thanks'. I'm getting ready to ask what's going on when Marvel comes stumbling out from the direction of the football field, smiling and smelling God awful - both indicating the high probability that he skipped the last period of the day in order to smoke up underneath the bleachers.

"Hey, guys. Hey, Peet... Sorry again about your face, man," he starts, pausing to try and contain the grin on his face.

_Oh no._

"Promise to watch my elbows next time we play one on one."

And _that_ is precisely why some things are better kept a secret.

There's a look of pure panic that crosses Peeta's face a split second before Delly opens her big, dumb mouth. His hand comes up to rub at the back of his neck and I can practically see the wheels turning in his head, trying to come up with some logical way to make Marvel's words make sense.

"I thought... But you just said that it happened because of Chord-"

"Yeah, well there are a lot of elbows on a basketball court, Delly. Peeta, can I talk to you for a minute?" I wrap my fingers around his elbow and tug him away from the blonde. He nearly falls against me, and I take in the slightly musty scent of the same clothes he's been wearing since Saturday. We've just turned our backs when I hear her sharp, insistent voice ring through the air again.

"But Marvel said it was during a game of one on one."

Peeta tenses beside me, and I send him the most reassuring look that I possibly can before turning around. I let my arms hang down at my sides, taking a deep breath and extending my fingers as I exhale. Usually, getting rid of Delly Cartwright isn't much of a problem for me - she rarely has anything to say (to my face) anyway. With Peeta within arm's reach, though, I know that it'll be a little more difficult than usual, so I just go for the first thing that I can think of.

Making her feel stupid.

"Really, Delly?" I look out of the corner of my eye to where Marvel is standing, forearm deep in a bag of salt & vinegar chips that he got from who knows where, and then back to her. "Marvel's also high as fuck right now. Take a whiff. You'd have to be an idiot not to realize that."

She squints her eyes and for a split second, I think that it hasn't worked. That she's not going to let this go. Then she gives kind of a shaky smile, laughing as if she was just kidding the entire time.

This isn't a usual play of mine. If someone doesn't know what weed smells like, or isn't able to instantly recognize a person as being higher than a kite - more power to them. For someone like her, though, my hunch that not knowing those things would be a major blow to her 'social confidence' is luckily right.

"I know tha-"

"Right, so we'll see you later."

She starts to say something, but I hear Marvel offer her a chip and it seems to distract her long enough for us to make our getaway. I wait until we're tucked away, hidden between some beat up minivan and the tall pine trees that line the back of the parking lot, before I turn to face him.

"Where have you been? I've been trying to call you all day."

My words come out much harsher than I mean for them to, and the tone completely betrays the fact that all I want to do is run my hands over him to make sure that he's okay. I take a step forward and curl the tips of my fingers against his. He looks tired, but not nearly as bad as when I left him at Finnick's place last night. The second that my skin presses into his, it's almost as if the worry visibly leaves his face altogether, and I can't decide if that makes me feel better or worse.

"Sorry," he starts, squeezing my fingertips and stepping in close enough for the toes of our shoes to touch. "She took my phone."

"Who did... Wait!" I drop his hands and take a step back, the heel of my shoe bumping into the back wheel of the minivan. "You went back there? What the hell, Peeta?"

His eyes drop to the ground as he answers.

"I had to talk to my dad and she was there..." He runs a hand through his hair before releasing what's probably the most exasperated sigh I've ever heard from him. "What do you want me to do, Katniss?"

He looks defeated and more agitated than anything else, and I can't really find it in myself to blame him. I'd be tired of dealing with me and my incessant need to blow up over every single thing, too. Somehow, even being aware of the fact that this is exactly what I'm doing doesn't stop me. I can feel the next sentence tumbling from my mouth before I have time to think it through.

"I don't know. Maybe stay as far away from that woman as possible?"

"I can't just crash on Finn's couch until I'm eighteen, Katniss."

I can't help that the first thought that goes through my mind is '_why the fuck not?_', but I manage to bite back the words. What he's saying makes sense, but the overwhelming need to keep him away from that God awful woman makes it hard to think. All I can see are the scratches that I know are underneath the sleeve of his flannel shirt and the ugly, painful looking bruise on his face. When he runs a hand through his hair again, wincing when his fingers graze a particularly dark purple patch, my throat feels like it's going to close up and there's a burn behind my eyes that won't go away.

"I'm just trying to make this easier on everyone. I can handle her."

I can see Madge and Gale looking at us from over Peeta's shoulder, and the reminder that we're not alone is the only thing that keeps my voice from rising to the point of near hysteria.

"Oh, really? Just like you were handling her on Saturday?"

"You weren't supposed to see that," he says, now unable to meet my eyes. The way that his foot turns in and he scuffs the toe of his left shoe against the instep of his right makes me falter for a moment, but I don't let it keep me from replying.

"Yeah, well I did. And I hated it. I hated seeing what she does to you... What you're like when you just..." My voice actually catches for a second and I have to pause. I know that I shouldn't feel this way, shouldn't blame him for something that's far from his fault. "You just let her treat you that way."

He takes another step closer, and I can barely think straight. I'm not used to seeing this side of the boy in front of me. Bruised, I've seen - broken, is a relatively new thing.

"Katniss, just listen-"

I cut him off, placing my hand on his forearm and grasping gently. I keep my grip steady as I speak.

"I have to go to work. I-I can't do this right now."

His face falls into some hard, unrecognizable expression, and I let my palm slip down his arm and into his hand for a fraction of a second before turning to walk away.

"So yeah, fuck her," Thom says, for probably the thirtieth time since he started talking less than fifteen minutes ago. I watch as bits of lettuce fly through the air as he slams the container housing it down into its designated spot. "If I can get that Friday shift back from you, that'd be fucking perfect. There's no way that I'm going to prom and watching her with that dickhead."

"Whatever," I mumble, scraping the counter free of the mess he's just made. I'm starting to think that asking him exactly what had been up his ass this entire shift was a huge mistake. Although the moody, heavy sighs that he was letting out left and right weren't exactly preferable. "As long as you shut up about the whole thing, dude."

"Yeah, sorry..."

"It's cool. The shift's yours again."

"Thanks, Katniss." He looks suddenly embarrassed by his outburst of emotion and subsequent tirade over exactly what makes Cashmere Michaels a complete twat, and reaches up to mess with the hair that pokes out above the strap on the back of his hat. "I'm going to go take the trash out. You got everything covered?"

I take a look at him, raising my eyebrows and then motioning to the empty dining room with one hand.

"I think I got it."

Regardless of the distraction that his tantrum has given me, there's been little else to keep my mind off the situation with Peeta and the fact that he's back to being stuck in the same house as his mother again. Monday's are usually slow until around six 'o clock, when all of the wives and moms that don't want to cook dinner after a day at work show up, but even that crowd was fairly tame and uneventful. I've wiped down the perpetually empty tables at least three times already, but step out from behind the counter anyway, intent on doing so again.

I'm in the middle of swiping the dampened rag over the surface of the table nearest the register when the bell above the door rings. I sigh without even facing the front of the store, and return to my spot behind the counter. It's not until I've washed my hands, pulled on my gloves, and positioned myself in front of where they stand on the opposite side that I see none other than Johanna Mason leaning with one hip against the wall. She seems amused by my lack of enthusiasm, and offers me what I guess passes for a smile. If smiles involve a corner of an upper lip barely curling upward.

I don't have the patience for this right now.

"What can I get you?"

I've never taken the time to memorize her order, or even know if she has a 'regular', but the abundance of toppings that she has me pile on top of her meatball sub seems to amuse her more than anything else. All I can think about is how she better actually eat this thing, and not just be fucking with me.

As I go to bag up her food, she just shakes her head at me and says she'll be eating here. Helping herself to one of the trays that she has to reach over the counter to get, she tells me to throw the receipt in the trash, and walks away without another word. I watch her for a few minutes, kind of mesmerized with the speed that she dismantles the sandwich with. While it's obvious that she actually_ is _planning on eating the entire thing, she picks all of the toppings off and eats them separately, as well as one by one. She's picking through the lettuce, taking out the last pickle in sight, when she looks back over to where I'm leaning against the register.

"Well, come on, Brainless," she motions the spot across the table from her. "Have a seat."

Deciding that there's not much else that I can do at the moment, I take my cup and refill it with tea before sliding into the seat opposite Johanna. Johanna Mason. Even though I've seen her here numerous times before, she seems so out of her element, and all I can think of is how her chipped black nail polish had looked when she plucked my cigarette out of my hands to light her own.

The back door slams shut and Thom looks at me with furrowed eyebrows as he goes to wash his hands.

"Don't even bother, kid." Johanna waves a dismissive hand in his direction and tells him to go smoke up in the walk-in, or something. When he looks at her, confusion evident, she just rolls her eyes and lets him know that she had friends that worked here in high school and isn't an idiot.

After the day that he's had (and subsequently tortured me with allllll of the details of), he doesn't hesitate when I shrug my shoulders.

"So it occurs to me that I might have been a bit brash before," she says, looking me dead in the eye.

Despite how earnest she seems, I can't stop the snort that falls from my lips.

"Shut the fuck up," she smirks, shoveling a few black olives into her mouth.

"I just find it hard to believe that you felt so bad about something that you said at a party, while probably hammered, more than a week ago, that you had come explain yourself to me here tonight."

"Well, I also needed to eat of course." She picks up what remains of her sandwich, now really just meat, cheese, and bread, and takes a huge bite to illustrate her point. Once she's swallowed and wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, she continues. "Listen, Everdeen. I don't know what was going on with you the other night, or why half the man candy at that party freaked the fuck out when you went missing, but for some reason the whole night put me into some kind of tailspin. Maybe it's because I see how all of your friends are dudes, aside from that Undersee chick - who I can't imagine has had a day of discomfort in her sweet little life. Maybe it's because you don't seem to be particularly scared of me."

Her words are hurried, almost rehearsed sounding, and she's not even really looking at me as she finishes. Her eyes are trained on the window to her right, squinting a little against the sun that streams in. She balls the sandwich wrapper in her fist and tosses it onto the table before looking back up at me.

"Maybe it's because you remind me of myself. I don't know..."

_What the hell is going on with this day?_

I exhale loudly.

"I find that hard to believe, too."

She rolls her eyes.

"So you don't surround yourself with people that love you, but never let them close enough to actually understand you?"

"I..."

"Because that would explain why not a single one of those guys _knew _what the fuck happened to you the other night, but all booked it the hell out of there without a second thought."

"I-," I try to start again, but she actually puts her hand up to stop me this time.

"It doesn't matter. I just hope that you thought a little about what I said about not taking that shit for granted."

She's repeating almost word for word what she told me before storming away from our trampoline oasis the other night. Honestly, with all of the other shit going on, I haven't given what she said a second thought.

"Just listen, my therapist says that it would be best if I got this out of the way before I left town, so here it is -"

The only thing that I can think of is the image of the girl in front of me with her eyes closed, lips mouthing their way to five. Yeah, the therapist thing makes sense.

"I don't know your story, or what's shaped your views on life and love and all that jazz. And you don't know mine. But I keep thinking about what you said the other night, and can't help but think that, being someone that's lost a lot... Fuck. Whether it's the love that you give, or the love you take... Yeah, just take it from me that the last thing you want to take for granted is '_the whole love thing_'.

I don't know what to say. Shit, I don't even know what to think at this point. I'm not completely sure what she's trying to tell me. If it were anyone else, anyone that I actually had some semblance of a relationship with, I wouldn't hesitate to tell them to keep their nose out of what they don't understand.

But this is Johanna Mason. The same Johanna Mason that I've had fewer conversations with than I have fingers on one hand. Johanna Mason, who - for some fucked up reason that's beyond me at the moment - seems like she actually _could_ understand.

I still don't know what I'm supposed to say though. So I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

"You're leaving town?"

If she's surprised by my lack of (actual) response, it doesn't show. She just picks at the skin around her thumbnail and nods.

"Yeah. My Aunt Lydia passed away last night."

"I'm sorry to hear that," I offer, not really knowing what to say to this either.

"It's cool. So," she says, catching the end of her straw between her teeth and taking a sip. The bell over the door rings out and I start to stand. "You going to tell me which one of your brother-husbands is the one that's been buttering your muffin?"

I snort a little as I swipe one of her napkins over the surface of the table, gathering the fallen crumbs. Shaking my head, I can't help but think that, given the right circumstances, we maybe could have been friends.

"Stick around here a little longer, and maybe you'll find out."

She follows my lead and pushes herself up from her seat. Shrugging a little, she throws her drink and wrapper away in the trash and walks toward the exit. I'm already behind the counter again when she tosses her parting words over her shoulder.

"Nah. No one left that I love here. No need to stay."

By the time that we've set the alarm and locked the doors, the town has basically shut down for the night. The only cars in sight are Thom's, the people that work at the gas station down the road, and Haymitch's old Bronco that Gale seems to have a serious hard on for. He has the top off tonight and, even I have to admit, it'd be a pretty sweet ride if it weren't for the putrid orangeish-brown color.

This isn't the first time that he's picked me up from work, but it is the first time since the night he found me emptying the contents of my stomach on the side of the road. As I climb into the passenger seat, I can't help but wonder if he actually managed to get me into the front that night, or if he'd tossed me into the back like a sack of potatoes. I guess I really can't afford to be too picky about however he went about it.

As usual, he doesn't say much, keeping one hand on the wheel and the other arm propped up on the open window. We're only about a minute away from the house when he spares a glance in my direction, lifting an eyebrow at how completely run-down and exhausted I must look.

"How was work?"

"Thrilling," I mutter, running a hand over my eyes and settling my forehead against the glass that's barely cooler than the warm, sticky air blowing around me.

I follow him through the front door a few minutes later and catch the way that he pulls his phone from his pocket. A faint smile spreads over his lips as he presses a few keys and wanders into the kitchen. I watch as he opens the pantry and grabs a box of Hamburger Helper from one of the shelves and places it on the counter. I try not to roll my eyes because, while his cooking skills are mediocre at best, mine aren't much better. At least I know he'll have set instructions to follow.

I'm thinking about how nice it's been lately to not be the only one worrying over whether or not Prim's getting dinner on the nights that mom's working late when I cross through the doorway of my bedroom. Satisfied with the fact that Haymitch is still downstairs, I pull the sweaty work shirt over my head before I even close the door. I kick it closed with my heel and move farther into the room before looking up and noticing that I'm not alone.

"Jesus fucking _Christ_, Peeta!"

I throw my wadded up shirt in his direction, hitting him square in the chest. I try to rid my muscles of their sudden tension, but it's not an easy task after the day that I've had. Decidedly ignoring him where he stands by my desk, I grab the tank top and shorts that I slept in last night from the end of the bed, and change as quickly as possible. He doesn't even try to disguise the way that he watches me, but then again, I guess there's not really any reason to.

"Sorry," he says as I come to rest on the mattress, pulling my hair out of the messy braid it's been in all day. I note the way that his fingers are tracing over the corner of a ticket-stub that's tucked underneath the frame of my bulletin board. One corner of his mouth is pulled up, and I remember how the crowds had been so thick at Music Midtown that no one could have noticed the way that he'd held my hand almost the entire time. "Prim let me in. Told her we had Econ homework."

He just stands there, eyes darting from my face to where my uncovered legs are crossed, Indian-style in front of me. The fact that he isn't moving to sit beside me or offering any explanation as to why he's actually here unsettles me. I swallow hard, and it feels like a rock sinks to the pit of my stomach.

"Well? I assume you came here to talk. Let's talk."

As important as I know clearing the air about whatever prompted him to return to his parents' house is, I really don't _want_ to talk at all. Something about the way that he won't quite meet my eyes, and how he lowers himself onto the bed, careful not to let his folded knees touch mine, leaves me wary. Another rock tumbles down into my stomach, settling on top of the one that already rests there.

"I don't really have a lot of time," he starts, and I nod while picking a piece of lint from the comforter. "Prim's not the only one who thinks that I'm doing something homework-related. I convinced my dad that I needed to pick up some things for class."

I don't remember seeing his Jeep outside and am just about to ask how he actually got here, but he speaks before I can.

"Chord dropped me off."

_Not_ what I was expecting.

While only two years older than Peeta, I don't really know much about Chord Mellark. And judging by the way that he's talked about him in the past, Peeta doesn't know a whole lot about his brother, either. From what he tells me, they were never close - even when they were little. Up until last year, when the middle Mellark's high school girlfriend made the mistake of choosing a clinic that wasn't far enough away from our town to go unrecognized, Chord had been widely regarded as Moira's favorite.

I don't know the whole story, and since talking about his mother has never really been a favorite topic of conversation between us, I never found it in me to ask. All that I do know is that after that mishap, the controlling witch was even harder on Peeta. She had one son left that hadn't royally fucked up. And then I came along and, well, fucked it up.

"He'll probably be back soon, so I don't have as much time to say this as I want."

He lifts his head a little and, instead of staring at his hands, he peers up at me through his eyelashes. Those stupid, impossibly long eyelashes.

"Then you should probably say what you came here to say, Peeta."

It's easy for me to automatically fall back into this defensive mode. That's where I usually am, anyway. He makes no attempt to calm me, and I bite the inside of my lip, waiting for him to talk.

"When I went by the house to talk to my dad earlier, her car wasn't in the driveway. Promise. Otherwise, I wouldn't have even stopped. But fuck if I wasn't there for two minutes before she pulled in. And then she took one look at me and then burst into fucking tears."

"Good. She _should_ burst into fucking _flames_, but good."

He grins just a little.

"She's so damn unstable. I mean, I could barely understand a word that she said. Dad did most of the actual talking, I guess." He pauses to run his teeth along his lower lip and, despite everything that we're talking about, I wonder why he hasn't even_ tried _to kiss me. "Chord was home, though... After they'd taken my phone and the keys to the Jeep, and dad had to force mom to take a nap, he sat down beside me in the kitchen."

Peeta pulls his hands roughly through his hair, but the way that it sticks out at odd angles just doesn't amuse me like it normally would.

"He knows that mom's crazy. And he pointed out that we all do. And he said that bringing anyone else into the equation and making them put up with her crazy is more selfish than anything else... At least that's what his ex-girlfriend told him the last time that they talked... over a year ago." He lets out a short, humorless laugh. "And mom liked her, and Jesus, even Chord was bearable to be around when they were together. She was right, though, Katniss. So was Chord. It is selfish of me to force you to have to put up with her... with this fucking mess. I don't want that."

I know that I'm supposed to reply here. Hell, I'm pretty sure that he's surprised that I haven't already interrupted him. He waits another second for me to say something, and then runs a tired hand over the bruise-free side of his face.

"It's not fair to you."

_Fuck_. This is starting to sound an awful lot like one of those _'it's not you, it's me' _scenes in one those stupid movies that Madge loves to drag me to. Down to the fact that I never saw it coming.

_This is it_, I think. This is fucking it. This is where he walks away, just like I've been scared he was going to do since the beginning.

"Are you... Are you trying to say what I think you're trying to say?"

My words are quiet, but come out quickly and an octave high enough to portray the sense of panic that I feel. _Panic_. Yeah, that's a good word for it.

The skin between his eyebrows knits together for a split second before he seems to understand what it is I'm asking. He practically rips my hands from their spot in front of me and holds them in his own while he sputters, his neck and ears turning pink.

"_No_. Shit... God, no." He lets go of one hand and scoots forward, bringing his fingers up to brush along my cheek. His thumb comes to rest in the spot just behind my ear, and he lets the rest of his hand cup the side of my face. "I know better than to try and decide what you can and can't handle, Katniss. I just... I guess that I want you to know that I understand if you can't, or... if you don't want to."

I've never questioned the fact that Peeta deserves more than me, but I have been selfish enough to hold on to him regardless. The very idea that he seems to think that I'm the one getting the short end of the stick, and that he'd let me go if I wanted him to... Well, it only solidifies the fact that I could live a thousand lifetimes and not deserve him.

I can't take it anymore. I close the distance between us and press my lips to his before he can say anything else. Threading my fingers into his hair, I hold his face only inches from mine after pulling away.

"Have you ever thought about the fact that I wouldn't be here unless I wanted to be?"

He starts to answer, but the sound of a horn honking in the driveway outside ruins the moment. He sighs and smiles in a way that only makes me realize how he looks more tired than anything else. I follow him down the stairs, grabbing my Econ notes from where I dropped my backpack onto the floor by the couch when I came in, and push them into his hands.

"Just in case," I shrug, ignoring the lifted eyebrow that Haymitch is giving me from his spot in the recliner.

I open the front door and lean against the frame as Peeta passes through to stand on the porch. He looks from my face, to where his brother is waiting, and then back to me. He still looks worried, so I take a step forward and catch his wrist in my hand.

"We'll get through this, Peeta. I don't - I don't know how, but... Somehow... _Together_."

Now would be a vastly beneficial time to have a better way with words, but in spite of my ineptitude, he seems the slightest bit relieved. He nods, and steps forward to wrap his arms around my shoulders. He pulls me tight against his chest and I know that I smell like Subway, and sweat, and just bad in general, but he doesn't seem to mind. He smells like spearmint, and it makes my chest tighten.

"I love you," he barely whispers as he pulls away, and turns to head to the car before I even have time to respond. I don't know if it's for my sake, or his own - it could go either way, really. He either doesn't want me to have to deal with the pressure of responding, or he doesn't want to deal with the fact that I can't.

"Peeta, wait!"

He's only a few steps off the porch, barely into the yard, but in a direct line of sight of both the upstairs windows (where I'm sure Prim is peering out because that's just what she does) and the truck in the driveway (where Chord is waiting, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel). I barely wait until he's turned around before I push myself onto my toes to reach his lips. The kiss catches him off guard, and he barely has his hands on my waist by the time I pull away.

I tell him that I'll see him tomorrow and watch as he makes his way to the truck with a slightly dazed smile on his face. My lips still tingle from the kiss as I stand here, hoping that was enough to make up for the verbal reply that I'm still, for some reason, unable to give.

It's not until he's gone, the tail lights of his brother's truck fading in the distance, that I realize that there's another set of words that Peeta Mellark needs to hear.

That he's worth it - All of this, and _so_ much more.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: **I'm sorry for the long wait. Thank you guys so much for sticking with me while I've republished what I'd written so far. This is the first chapter with new content since being reposted, and I hope that you enjoy. Also, I apologize for the paltry word count. I wish that I could say that getting back into writing this story was an easy task, but I'd be lying if I did. I tried my best, though. And again, thank you so much for reading.

* * *

"Alright. So far, I have allowed you to keep a pretty tight lid on this, but really, Katniss, I think that I deserve _some _of the details."

"Is that right?" I mutter, keeping my eyes on my lunch tray and refusing to spare Madge a glance.

I'm mostly doing it because I know it bugs the shit out of her to be ignored. It only has a little to do with how I'm still not particularly ready to just throw the details of my relationship with Peeta out into the open. Or into her fantasy world of girl talk and double dates.

I'm actually pretty surprised that she hasn't already brought this up. Normally she stops at absolutely nothing to drag any little bit of information out of me that she can. Most of the time, I've left her with nothing but disappointing lies of how '_really, I'm not interested in anyone_' and '_believe it or not, Madge, getting laid is not at the top of my to-do list_'. Normally, bringing up Gale's name in conversation is enough to deter her.

She huffs and I think even pouts a little, and I know that won't work today.

"Oh, don't pull that shit with me, Everdeen." She rolls her eyes as she starts to rip open her bag of chips. She pops one in her mouth and starts to speak as she chews. For such a pretty, prissy thing, her manners are kind of atrocious. "How long have you two been dating?"

"We're not dating." The words spill from my lips before I can think better of them. I don't even realize that I've said them out loud until Madge snorts. A spray of crumbs lands in front of me, and I pull my elbows from where they rest on the table. "We're not. I mean, it's not like I'm his girlfriend, or anything."

My face is starting to feel hot and the quirked eyebrow and way that Madge is just nodding her head and muttering '_yeah, okay_' really isn't helping anything.

"I'm. Not."

"So, what…" she trails off, chewing on her bottom lip. "Is it just sex then?"

Her eyes flicker up to somewhere behind my head and I watch as her cheeks turn pink.

"Is what just sex?"

_God damn it. _

I try my hardest not to tense up as Peeta lowers himself in the seat beside me. It's not even that I don't want to see him right now. In fact, after last night and the way that I fell asleep with that dazed look of his imprinted into the forefront of my mind, I've been looking forward to doing so all day. Any other time and I'd be thrilled to have him sneak into our lunch period.

But now I'm sure that I'm going to stick my fucking foot in my mouth somehow. I always do.

And, of course, my hesitation lasts a fraction of a second too long and I can't stop Madge from opening her goddamned mouth.

"What the two of you are doing."

She says it as if she wasn't blushing just two fucking seconds ago over him hearing her in the first place.

I'm going to murder her.

Peeta doesn't say a word, but it's clear that the easy going mood he sat down with is gone in a flash.

"Kat was just telling me that you two aren't dating. Just doing it."

I'm going to torture her slowly _and then_ murder her.

He's not looking at me. I can tell that without even turning to face him. I glare at Madge and slam my elbows down onto the table before hiding my face with my hands. I run the heel of one palm over my brow bone and try to alleviate the sudden tension that I've got going on now. Not even bothering to look up when I speak, my words are muffled and she huffs out an annoyed '_what?_'

"I _said_ that's not what I meant."

"What did you mean then?"

His voice is soft, bordering on that stupid, puppy dog tone that I hate hearing. I've heard it way too much lately. Most of the time I don't bother to think beyond the fact that it's annoying to me because it means that I'll have to apologize. Now though… Now it hits me that it actually hurts to hear him this way. That it hurts to be the cause of it. And that I'm a fucking dick for thinking of how _him_ being upset hurts _me_ before anything else.

For once, the thought of '_oh god, how long am I going to have to ride this out before shit's okay again_' isn't crossing my mind. No, because I know that I'm the one who needs to fix this.

Just wish that I knew how.

I let my elbows drop from the table and lift my head just enough so that my hair no longer hides my face. While he wouldn't look at me not two seconds ago, he's boring a hole into the side of my head now. He doesn't even look angry, of course he wouldn't. No, it's just the same disappointment that I've gotten used to. That I've perpetuated.

I bite the inside of my lip as I slide a hand over and onto his leg. The muscles in his thigh stiffen for the briefest of seconds, but relax just as quickly. It's hard not to take note of how he doesn't even think twice before placing his palm over the top of mine, lacing our fingers as a corner of his mouth twitches upward to hint at the smile he holds back. The longer he looks at me, the harder it is for me to hide mine.

And then Madge clears her throat and makes me want to throttle her again.

"Yeah, Katniss. What did you mean?"

I slide forward in my chair just far enough to kick her in the shin instead.

"Hell, I don't know." Agitation seeps into my voice as it so often does and just pisses me off even more. "I mean… I mean, we've never even been _on_ a date."

I turn to face Peeta and can't really decipher the look that he's giving me. He goes to say something, but I cut him off.

"We've never _been able_ to go on a date. Your mom has eyes all over the place, Peeta." I blow out an exasperated breath and mutter the rest. "She's making sure that we can't go anywhere together. You can't even leave your house without her knowing."

He squeezes my hand and I look over at him. His cheeks are a little flushed and the smile he was biting back a minute ago is slowly creeping onto his face. Something in his eyes changes and he drops my hand, slipping his palm from mine and letting it come to rest on my thigh. His eyes stay serious even as his voice takes on a teasing tone.

"You want to go on a date with me?"

The way that he leans forward slightly should worry me. It should make me push back as far as I can and shove his hand off my leg. But it doesn't. Instead it makes me kind of shivery and flustered, and completely forget that there's anyone else in the room. There's a spot that's worn along the inseam of my jeans about halfway up my thigh and when his fingertips brush over it, I involuntarily snap my knees together, trapping them there.

He grins.

"Do you?"

I shrug one shoulder and run my fingers over his now captive wrist and up his forearm.

"Nah. I mean, you don't even have a car now."

He snorts and looks down at my lap as he tries his best to find a way to tickle me despite the vice grip I have on his hand. I shift a little in my seat and his movements still. I feel even more flustered when I look up to see him staring at me through the curls that've fallen into his eyes. I don't even think before reaching out to brush the hair back. He tilts his head into my hand and scrunches up his nose.

"Whatever," he says, voice low.

"Finn does, though… And he's skipping fourth period, so…"

His eyebrows raise.

"Oh?"

I nod deliberately, letting my eyes wander to his throat as he swallows hard.

"Jesus fucking Christ, you guys."

Madge's voice cuts through the air like a knife, but I decide that I don't really care.

* * *

"You locked the door, right?"

I'm so lost in the sound of my own heart beating inside my ears that I almost miss the question completely. In fact, I'm pretty sure that if his lips weren't actually grazing my ear with his words, I'd be absolutely oblivious.

"Yeah." The word is more of a gasp than anything else, and with it, I push my hips back against him as far as I can. The gruff, almost pained sound that falls from his open mouth hits the skin of the crook of my shoulder and I can't help but smile. "Why?"

He splays the fingers of his right hand over the expanse of my stomach, and I forget that I'm expecting a reply. At this angle, the ridge of his cock seems to drag slowly and deliberately over every single nerve ending that it passes over. My muscles tense around him in a way that's not entirely intentional. It stokes the flame inside of my belly and it's starting to feel like my skin might melt off any second.

"Don't tell me that you didn't hear that car door."

I tense and turned my head to the side so that I can catch his eyes over my shoulder.

"What?" The tension melts away just as quickly as it came on when his hand slips lower on my abdomen. His thumb presses firmly against the dip alongside my hipbone at the same time his ring finger slides through the wetness just above the spot we're connected. My inhale is more of a hiss as I greedily suck air through my teeth. "Fuck it. I don't care."

He tongues the spot behind my ear.

"Someone could hear."

I know that it's too early for Prim to be home from school, and mom's working 'til eight. I make a half-hearted attempt at listening for footsteps on the staircase, but push any thoughts of interruption or being discovered to the back of my mind when I hear nothing.

"Don't care," I choke out, "just don't stop."

His free hand slips into my hair and tugs the strands just enough that my breath catches in my throat and I swear my nipples stiffen even more. Now having better access, he scrapes his teeth along the column of my throat and even though the way that he's moving inside of me feels nothing short of fucking amazing, I have the sudden desire to have his face in front of me. Or underneath me. That'll do, too.

A tiny, pitiful sound of protest comes from behind me as I pull away quickly. His hand, sticky with… well, us, slides over the curve of my hip and hangs in the air above my ass for a split second before he figures out my intentions. He rolls quickly onto his back and nearly lifts me completely off the bed to deposit me on top of him. I keep our torsos close, my face moving in the air over his, our lips a hairsbreadth apart and try not to let the shivers that his fingers dancing over my spine produce disrupt our rhythm.

The friction that the short, coarse hairs at the apex of his thighs create against my clit has me gasping against his lips a moment later. He follows not long after, fingers gripping tight enough to leave bruises, and my name nothing more than a sound muffled by the skin over my heart and hair that falls in a curtain around us.

I smile down at him as I move to sit up, craning my neck from side to side to relieve the ache that's started set in. As soon as I turn to face the window, my eyes narrow, and I nearly fall backward off the side of the bed. Honestly, I'd almost forgotten the very mention of anyone possibly being home so seeing Haymitch's old rust bucket in the driveway kind of throws me for a loop.

_Shit. Shit. Shit. _

_It could be worse._

_Still. Shit. _

"So I was right then?"

His voice is still casual as he lies on the bed, propped up on his elbows while he watches me scurry around the room in search of my underwear. I finally locate them, peeking out from underneath his jeans that are crumpled in the corner, and turn to face him. I don't even know what I'm the most worried about – the fact that my mother's boyfriend could have very well just overheard us fucking, that we're supposed to be in class, that Peeta's mom will go absolutely ape shit (again) if there's any inclination that he was here with me, or the wary and insecure way that he's looking at me right now. Taking a second to breathe, I decide to focus on that last one, and toss the panties in my hand onto the desk to my right as I make my way back to the bed.

"Looks that way."

I lay my hand on his chest and lean down to kiss him despite the initial instinct to play damage control, and _play it now_. His posture relaxes as I take his bottom lip between my teeth. He's pressed into the mattress again in no time flat. At first it takes a lot of willpower to keep myself from breaking away from his embrace, but soon I'm convinced that I never want to leave. His fingers are painting abstract patterns higher and higher on my sides, and I try not to laugh as he crosses a particular ticklish spot.

"Stop," I barely gasp before he swirls his fingertips over it again.

I almost snort right in his face and he bites his lip to keep from laughing at me. It seems like it's been ages since I've really let myself laugh, since we've let ourselves laugh together. So I don't hold it in. I let it out and revel in the fact my stomach and the muscles in my face are starting to hurt and in the brighter than the sun smile that Peeta has on his face. He rolls to the side with me still on top of him and holds my cheeks in his hands, brushing the bangs back as he does.

My insides tense as I see the words start to form more in his eyes than anywhere else. They always soften before he says them; soften, yet still somehow manage to pin me into place with their intensity. The tips of my fingers make lazy patterns in the blond trail leading down from his navel, and I'm starting to think that it's mostly habit that's trying to lead me into distracting myself. The most natural instinct is for me to stop his lips from moving by covering them with my own. But he must know what I'm trying to do because he waits until the last second, as my nose is brushing along his, and our mouths are almost perfectly in line to say the words.

"I love you."

I squeeze my eyes closed and swallow hard. I can do this. _I can fucking do this_. My lips part on their own accord and I'm almost there when the sound of someone knocking on my bedroom door causes me to jerk so hard that, for the second time, we almost topple over the side of the bed.

"What the fuck," I mutter, my arms wrapping tight around Peeta's torso in order to balance myself.

"Sweetheart? You in there?"

_Oh. Right._ I'd forgotten about him somehow.

"Uh, yeah…"

I bury my face in Peeta's chest.

"Everything alright?"

I scrunch my face up into what has to be the most unattractive expression ever and let out a muffled yes. Peeta starts to sit up, so I reach down to pick my bra up from the floor.

"What was that?"

Oh my fucking god.

"I said _YES_."

I toss Peeta's t-shirt across the room to him.

"Good. Now you and blondie come on out."

I freeze, one leg stuck in the tangled mess of my jeans, and look over just in time to watch the word fuck fall (loudly) from Peeta's mouth. The suppressed chuckling that leads to a coughing fit on the other side of the door only furthers my mortification. While we're making our way downstairs to the living room, I find myself conflicted over whether or not Haymitch's interruption was a good thing.

I can't figure out if the words that almost slipped out are getting harder to keep in, or easier to say.

I decide that it might not be the most immediate of my concerns when a blur of black and white whizzes in front of my face. The sneaker hits Peeta square in the chest and he catches it with little effort before having the decency to blush at the situation we've found ourselves in. Without a word, he crouches down to unknot the laces as Haymitch tosses the other one onto the floor in front of him. I don't miss the sight of it sliding across the hardwood because I can't even fucking look at anything right now _but_ the floor.

"Haymitch, look," I start before I realize that I have absolutely no idea where I'm going with this. "I, we… I…"

I finally look up after about 30 seconds of silence to find him with smirk on his face that really has me itching to smack him. The jackass is enjoying seeing me squirm. It doesn't take long for my features to school themselves back into their normal scowl, and I'm pretty sure this only provides him with a further sense of fucking glee.

The older man cuts me off when I go to open my mouth again.

"Save it, sweetheart." He lifts his chin in Peeta's direction and picks his keys up from the coffee table. "I'm going to drop the boy here back off at the school. If you don't have to work, you should, I don't know… start making dinner, or some shit."

I'm still so flustered that I almost tell him that it's okay, not to worry about taking Peeta back to the school because Finnick's going to pick him up afterward. Thankfully I realize that it's my mom's boyfriend in front me, who just walked into the house to find us holed up in my bedroom. Who might have even heard us, and _oh God_…

"I, uh… I'm going to go grab my bag."

Peeta is galloping up the stairs in about two seconds flat. I glance at where Haymitch is standing with his arms crossed over his chest and eyebrows raised, back to the retreating form on the staircase. Jerk. I don't even bother with saying anything as I follow behind him as quickly as possible. He already has his bag over his shoulder by the time that I walk into my room.

"Were you just going to leave me with him?" I hiss at him as I move close enough to shove him backward.

"I figured the damage had already been done," he says as he takes my wrists into his hands and pulls me to stand directly in front of him. I'm still so mortified by this entire damned situation that I bury my face into his t-shirt. He lets go of my hands and wraps his arms around me for a second before I feel his shoulders start to shake. His hold on me is so tight that when I try to break away from him, I barely put enough space between us to avoid hitting my forehead on his nose when I look up at him.

"It's not funny."

His lips fall into a straight line. For about half a second. I can already feel the flush on my face starting to dissipate, but I keep my face as stern as possible. I can't help but want to chase after that feeling from earlier, from wanting to see that goofy, crooked smile on his goofy, beautiful face.

"It's not," I repeat.

"You're right," he grins. "I'm sorry."

He leans down to kiss the end of my nose and I take the opportunity to push him farther away.

"Go. For the love of god. Before he comes back up here."

"Oh, I get it. You're going to leave me alone with him. _Thanks_." He pauses and I start to worry as all of the blood drains from his face. "You don't think he's going to like, give me the talk, or anything… Do you?"

The very idea turns my stomach to be honest, but a morbid little laugh bubbles up from my throat. Mostly because of how fucking terrified Peeta looks right now.

"It's not funny," he says, parroting my earlier words back at me.

I step closer and place my hands on his shoulders, pulling myself up to kiss him.

"You're right. I'm sorry."

He grins, and I think he might have more to say, but the very loud, very annoyed sound of a throat clearing somewhere on the staircase interrupts the moment. He sighs as he slips his hand into mine and gives it a squeeze. The smile on his face is more subdued now, and while I completely understand why that is, I can't help but feel my heart clench just the tiniest bit.

"I better go."

I watch as he turns to leave, the grip on his bag tight enough for the muscles in his forearm to stand out. For some reason though, it's the way that his fingers wrap around the thick canvas strap that holds my attention. If I concentrate hard enough, I can still feel how they were cradling the sides of my face.

"Peeta, wait."

He doesn't say anything as he faces me – just glances to the side quickly, leading me to assume that Haymitch has probably made his way to the top of the stairs and is glaring at him from the end of the hallway. I open my mouth a few times, looking down and exhaling loudly when nothing will come out. It's not until I feel the sting of the skin around my thumbnail ripping away from where I'm unconsciously picking at it that I just blurt it out.

"Me, too."

It takes him a second, and even though the words still aren't quite right, they're by far the closest I've ever been able to come. When the pieces fall together, the smile on his face is blinding.


End file.
